


Eye of the Storm

by lahdolphin



Series: Of Monsters and Men [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fantasy Violence, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin
Summary: Time, Oikawa finds, moves strangely after you’ve been possessed by a demon. What he went through should have broken him. It certainly would have broken any other man. But time moves forward and Oikawa stands, unbroken.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: Of Monsters and Men [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824544
Comments: 81
Kudos: 108





	1. Time

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a direct sequel to [Stars Aligned](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589377/chapters/36193968). I suppose you don't have to start there, but it certainly might help. If not, here's what you need to know: Oikawa was possessed by a demon, Iwaizumi helped save him, and they fled to Inarizaki with their friends because Oikawa was sentenced to death for starting a war. 
> 
> This fic is rated M for its dark themes including but not limited to mentions of indentured servitude, slavery, sex trafficking, self-harm, suicidal ideation, hallucinations, mild descriptions of bodily harm, and non-graphic discussion of the potential rape of a tagged character (that is, no rape occurs, but might have under different circumstances).

Time, Oikawa finds, moves strangely after you’ve been possessed by a demon.

He does not tell anyone this, and he never will, but he does not remember much of those early days after his exorcism.

He remembers a red-headed kid with a sword piercing his gut and that thing whispering inside his mind. “You won’t survive long without me anyways,” it said.

He remembers waking in a prison cell, his body frozen in place, until an hour later he realized he could move on his own. He forgot he could move. He forgot he was alone inside his body once more.

He remembers standing at the rail of a ship, staring at the horizon, swaying with the rock of the waves, fighting the urge to claw off his skin. Without that thing inside him, his body felt empty. He did not miss it in the slightest, but he had grown accustomed to it. 

He remembers Iwaizumi crawling into his hammock, his body warm and familiar while his own body felt like a stranger’s. He remembers hiding his face in Iwaizumi’s neck as his body shook uncontrollably for no reason at all. He bit his bottom lip until it went bloody and raw to keep himself from crying out.

It would have been enough to break any other man—from Iwaizumi’s tales, it may have broken Kuroo—but Oikawa will not let it break him. 

The first time his feet touch dry land after leaving Karasuno and his kingdom behind, he feels like it is all a dream. He wears Kageyama’s thumb ring, the fit perfect, and struggles to recall what he looked like. He feels like he will wake up back in Miyagi with that thing still inside of him. Perhaps, he thinks, this is another illusion its concocted.

But Matsukawa’s hand on his shoulder urging him forward is large and rough. The touch is familiar, the location foreign. Kindaichi talks to Iwaizumi about the smells of the lively port. The scene is familiar, the conversation foreign.

This is real, he thinks. And if it’s not, I don’t want to wake up.

The Ivory Port is the second largest port in the kingdom of Inarizaki, second only to the Azure Bay to the northwest, the capital city. The name Ivory Port comes from the white sands along the coast and the white sun-bleached buildings of the city. Oikawa has never seen a sandy port in all his life. The few ports in Aobajousai had been built on cliffside towns and grassy plains with rocky edges and cold water. If sand is meant to be any other color than this, Oikawa has no point of reference to what that other color would be.

He heard Nekoma had ports like this, warm with sand and fan-like trees Oikawa has only inked seen in books. Iwaizumi saw such things in his travels. Iwaizumi is always eager to tell him about his travels, but Oikawa hates it. He hates that Iwaizumi saw the world without him. He hates that he cannot imagine the taste of the food Iwaizumi describes, or the way the air smells by the sandy sea.

But the past cannot be changed. Now, Oikawa looks around, following the others, not saying anything as he takes it all in. Time is moving slowly for him today and he wants to treasure it, wants to engrave the scents and sights into his mind before it blurs together with the rest of the days.

It’s hot here, hotter than he ever thought a place could be. It’s hotter than the hot springs in the mountains of Aobajousai and even warmer than Karasuno had been when they left. His skin feels sticky with sweat, his body unable to cool itself with this ghastly humidity, but it only makes the salty breeze from the ocean feel even better.

He watches as fishing vessels pour into the docks, the boats all shapes and sizes, each bringing in hauls of all kinds. The stalls closest to the water sell the fresh fish, most of which are unfamiliar to Oikawa. These fish didn’t live in the cold waters of his once-home and they would never have lasted being shipped all the way there.

Inarizaki exports many goods, but fish is usually not one. They ship ore mined from the cliffs near the infamous Wastelands and gems of the rarest kinds. They ship spices, fabrics, and weapons, and send off ships loaded with the purest gold. Inarizaki is a wealthy kingdom at face value, but had Oikawa studied it enough as a child to know the common people were not so lucky.

Soon they’re further into the seaside market, surrounded by more things he does not recognize. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are buying spiced meat fresh from the fire, while Iwaizumi and Kindaichi look at the colorful fruit. There had been so little fresh fruit on the boat towards the end, eaten first before it went rotten.

Someone tugs on his sleeve, jerking him out of the way of a mule whose back is overflowing with baskets. Oikawa looks over to Kunimi, whose expression Oikawa has forgotten how to read. Is this how everyone else felt when dealing with Kunimi?

“You’re acting strange,” Kunimi says.

Oikawa’s mouth opens and closes. “Well,” Oikawa says, “it’s all a bit much, isn’t it? It’s exciting, though, seeing a new place. I never dreamed I would get to see things like this.”

“You’re lying,” Kunimi says, but he does not press.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki approach them, handing Oikawa a skewer of charred meat, and by the time Oikawa looks back, Kunimi is over with Iwaizumi and Kindaichi at the fruit stall.

“I know we want to get out of this city as soon as possible,” Matsukawa says, talking around a half-chewed chunk of meat, “but we’re probably going to want to get some rooms at an inn for a night or two until we get our shit together.”

What memories Oikawa has of their travels on that boat are fragmented, but he knows what he would have done in his saner moments. Teach them about the place they were going—culture, history, geography. The Ivory Port is large with paths to many other places in Inarizaki, but they are more likely to be recognized here by merchants and noblemen and war refugees that remember the face of the man that burned their villages to the ground.

Matsukawa is staring at him.

No, Oikawa thinks. He is the one staring at Matsukawa.

Oikawa nods, not even sure he remembers what he was nodding to. He pulls a chunk of meat off the stick with his teeth and chews it in the pocket of his mouth. It tastes so good, and his jaw aches from moving of his own free will, and he almost feels like crying.

* * *

They pay for two adjacent rooms at an inn called the Sleepy Camel and gather together in one of them after dinner. Kunimi pulls out a map Queen Michimiya had given them in one of their bags and spreads it out on the floor. It’s incredibly detailed for its smaller size, though shows little beyond Inarizaki, the western empire of Niiyama cut off at the left edge, and only half of the Wastelands is depicted, not that many people have maps of the Wastelands to begin with. Like the Isle of Fukurodani, the Wastelands are a perilous place for humans.

The others are talking, their voices floating in one ear and out the other, so familiar, and a warmth wells inside of him, threatening to overflow.

“Tooru,” Matsukawa says, but Oikawa does not hear him.

How many times before have they done this very thing, holed up in some inn where no one knows who they are with just a map, figuring out what to do next? He remembers when he broke his arm that summer, only Kageyama had been with them then, and they chased rumor after rumor to find a healer despite Oikawa’s protests that he would wear a sling and wait for it to heal naturally. Kageyama had been a child then, not the man that gave him his thumb ring and bow.

“Tooru,” Matsukawa says again, more forceful, like he is trying to shake someone awake without shaking them. Oikawa hears him this time, but he does not process it.

He often sees Kageyama in his dreams, something he never told anyone, not even Iwaizumi. He sees it as a sign of weakness, a leader that could not cut off a loose end. The memories are fonder than the present—early mornings spent in the forest hunting, teaching Kageyama to climb a tree and sit steady on a branch while aiming a bow, instead of wondering where Kageyama was, if he was even alive.

Now, he sees Kageyama on his knees, choking, gasping for breath. He can feel that demon’s magic coursing through his veins even now. It’s hot and black like burning pitch. And while he watched Kageyama dying, surrounded by his friends, Iwaizumi begging to die instead of Kageyama, that thing spoke to him.

_This is your fault. He is dying because of you._

Kindaichi touches his shoulder.

Oikawa jerks away. His head whips to the side, staring, and then he slowly looks at all of them. Their expressions vary.

“Are you okay?” Hanamaki asks, though he seems to already have an answer.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Oikawa asks with his best fake smile, one he never wore around these men, but now feels forced to.

“Because you were mumbling about how it was your fault,” Kunimi says, blunt as ever. “You said, ‘He is dying because of you.’”

Their eyes feel so very heavy and suddenly, he is the one that cannot breathe, throat tight and chest unmoving. He tries to think of something to say, some clever excuse, but he’s sure all of them would see right through it.

Time begins to move quickly again.

He must have been quiet longer than he thought because Kindaichi says, “Um, Tooru, are you still with us?”

“Yes, sorry,” Oikawa says, his smile back in place, unsure if it had dropped or not. Regardless, it’s there now and that’s all that matters. “We were talking about assignments for tomorrow.”

“We finished talking about that five minutes ago,” Matsukawa says carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay? We can talk in the morning if you’re tired. Right, Hajime?”

“Morning is fine,” Iwaizumi says with finality. They no longer call him captain. They use his name, the one reserved for Oikawa’s use and Oikawa’s alone, but now that name belongs to them all. His family name is gone. All their names are gone.

Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Kindaichi, Kunimi.

Gone.

So, so much is gone.

“They’re gone,” Iwaizumi says.

“Gone?” Oikawa asks hollowly.

“The others,” Iwaizumi says, but that doesn’t help.

Oikawa looks up and blinks. When had he looked down? Iwaizumi is standing in front of him, the room vacated, empty except for them and a bed, the others in the adjacent room for the night. There’s a soft glow of an oil lantern in the corner casting shadows on Iwaizumi’s face, the sharp cut of his cheek and jaw more visible than usual. He shaved. When did he shave?

He can’t remember the last time he was alone with Iwaizumi like this, in a room with a bed and a door with a lock. After the battle for Karasuno, he had been put in chains quickly to ease everyone’s mind. He remembers how Iwaizumi never left his side, trusting no one except that woman and that band of mercenaries. Then there was the ship—how long had they been on that ship?—with no privacy at all.

Iwaizumi holds out his hand and says, “C’mon, let’s get some sleep.”

Oikawa takes his hand and feels solid, present.

Time moves slowly again.

Iwaizumi carefully strips Oikawa of his weapons—a bow and quiver given to him by Kageyama and a sword from a queen he tried to kill. Then Iwaizumi undoes Oikawa’s tunic, his fingers tickling his sides, and has him sit on the bed to take off his boots. Oikawa watches him carefully the entire time. He lets Iwaizumi move him. Not the same way the demon had moved him. Iwaizumi moves him. _Hajime_ moves him.

“Hajime,” he says quietly, bare except his pants. He feels raw and open, like so much more than his skin is laid bare for all to see. “Am I—can I—do you—?”

Am I okay?

Can I do this?

Do you still want to follow me? Do you think they still want to follow me? Do you still respect me? Do you think I can live my life like this? Do you think this will last forever?

Do you still love me after all I’ve done?

Oikawa wraps his arms around his own body, fingers digging crescent moons into the bare flesh of his arms. He feels a flash of hot black magic in his veins, and he wonders if it is real or a memory. Either way, he digs his nails in harder, wishing he could rip off his skin and tear that thing out once and for all, until Iwaizumi’s hands so, so gently wrap around his wrists and move his hands away.

“Don’t do that,” Iwaizumi says quietly, voice calm. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Why not? Oikawa wants to ask, but he does not have the energy for that conversation.

Then, Iwaizumi drops to a knee in front of him and slides a hand up the side of Oikawa’s thigh towards his hip. His hand is warm, and his face is clean shaven for the first time in weeks, and he is so handsome that Oikawa cannot breathe.

“We’re in no hurry,” Iwaizumi says. His thumb rubs into the bone of his hip, such a loving touch, and all Oikawa wants is to shrink away. “We’re with you until the end, no matter when or where that is. So, take your time. We’ll be here.”

Time creeps, hardly moving at all in that moment.

He nods silently.

Iwaizumi raises to his knees and presses between Oikawa’s legs. Oikawa knows that look so well. It’s usually paired with two words and a smile. “Kiss me,” Iwaizumi would say when they were hidden away in their tent as the winter winds blew outside, or tucked behind a locked door in the castle as servants walked by. His smile was so sweet then, almost as sweet as his lips tasted after eating a handful of berries.

Now, Iwaizumi does not say those two words, nor does he smile. He does not say anything, simply staying here, waiting, giving him time. But time is strange after you’ve been possessed by a demon and Oikawa cannot seem to get a grasp on it no matter how hard he tries.

Iwaizumi waits, and waits, and waits.

And then, Oikawa leans forward to kiss him.

Time moves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd actually written this first chapter as a stand alone piece shortly before or immediately after finishing Stars Aligned, but only ever shared it with a few people. When I shared it with [zelda_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelda_writes/works), she encouraged me to write more and here we are. If you read Stars Aligned (or not, can't blame you, it's long), I hope you like this follow up.  
>   
>  **[Tumblr tag](http://lahdolphin.tumblr.com/tagged/stars-aligned-fic) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lahdolphin) | [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/writingthoughtsandthings/wip-stars-aligned/desert/)**


	2. Memory

They sit on the floor of an inn, but Oikawa feels like he is a league away, watching from the outside. His body hears and sees their conversation, but he does not feel like he is hearing and seeing. He still does not feel like he inhabits his own body, like it still belongs to that thing instead of him.

“Where do we go next?” Hanamaki asks. “I don’t like staying in a big port town.”

“Ivory Port is the second largest port town in Inarizaki; only the capital is larger,” Oikawa does not say, because moving and saying what he thinks is still foreign. Each word feels like a struggle and today, he cannot seem to do much more than part his lips. 

“We can’t go any further north,” Iwaizumi says. “If anyone is going to recognize Tooru or me, it’ll be here or near the capital, Azure Bay.”

He does not need to speak. Iwaizumi thinks like he does. He is— _was_ —the finest knight of his generation. He would still be a knight of Aobajousai if it wasn’t for that demon, for Oikawa. Perhaps one day, he would lead the royal guard like his father. He gave all of that up to save Oikawa and bring him to his place. Now, he is not a knight. He is not even Iwaizumi Hajime, his name changed to avoid detection. Everything he worked for vanished the second they stepped on that boat in Miyagi.

“It’s suicide to traverse the desert without a guide,” Iwaizumi says, “so we’ll stay on the coast.”

“I bet we can get passage with a merchant ship, or a caravan that travels by land,” Hanamaki says. “Issei and I used to hitch rides with merchants all the time. As long as you pay them, they typically don’t mind having people that can fight traveling with them.”

“The port town of Saltshore is large enough that new arrivals are paid no attention but small enough that no merchant that dealt with Aobajousai royalty would visit,” Oikawa cannot say.

“Akira, try and find out what you can from the underbelly of this place,” Iwaizumi orders. Kunimi nods. “The rest of us will see what the townspeople have to say.”

Oikawa wants to scream, but it feels as if he has no mouth to do so.

* * *

It’s hot, the skin on his nose and the back of his neck where hair does not reach burning red. He trails mindlessly behind Iwaizumi and Hanamaki, his feet moving but his mind elsewhere. He tries to recall the conversation from the inn and the plan they agreed upon. He tries to remember his role in all of this. Before, his role had been so clear. Now, he does not know where he belongs amongst these men, if he belongs there at all.

The market around them is bustling with life—merchants making deals, mules whose backs are overflowing with baskets, and colors of clothes that sold for exuberant prices in Aobajousai that nearly everyone wears in Inarizaki. Here, the colors are cheaper and even the common people can afford what is a luxury on another continent. 

Iwaizumi and Hanamaki stop at a market stall, so Oikawa’s body stops, too. Iwaizumi picks up a long piece of tan cloth, but Hanamaki shakes his head and picks up another, crimson with golden suns. Images of suns are common in Inarizaki where they worship the sun god called Andel. His mark is a sun with an eye in the center, but many think that a picture of a sun alone gives praise to Andel and grants his protection, that the eye is unnecessary. 

Iwaizumi and Hanamaki talk to one another, but Oikawa does not process whatever it is they’re saying, the market too loud for him to focus in on a single conversation. Then, Iwaizumi takes the crimson cloth with the suns and wraps it loosely around Oikawa’s head and neck. It covers the skin on his neck and cools his scalp. Iwaizumi has a determined look to his face as he adjusts the cloth with more care than he later shows when draping a similar cloth around his own head. He looks like this is the most important thing he’s done in life.

Oikawa reaches up and touches Iwaizumi’s wrist with the tips of his fingers. They have different reactions to that gentle touch. Iwaizumi’s hands still, the world slowing, while Oikawa feels like he’s been propelled forward, catching up from all the time he’s lost.

He remembers dressing and the weight of Iwaizumi’s eyes on his naked body, the way they avoided the scar on his stomach. He remembers putting Iwaizumi’s scabbard on for him and the way Iwaizumi kissed him in return. He remembers their breakfast, the char on the bread and the spice on the eggs. He remembers laughing at a raunchy joke Matsukawa told. He remembers feeling like he belonged, even if he did not know how.

“You’re okay,” Iwaizumi says. It’s not a reassurance. It’s a fact.

Oikawa nods.

“Told you that one would look better on him,” Hanamaki says, grinning. “Your fashion sense is shit, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and Oikawa smiles.

* * *

They congress and eat dinner at a tavern a local told them about. Its loud, filled with sailors and fishermen back from a long day at sea, and Oikawa finds himself drifting in and out of conversations. There’re the women enjoying a meal and complaining about their husbands’ lack of work around the house. A group of fishermen are regaling stories of storms and great feats of survival. There's a man and woman that seem to be on a date, a gifted bouquet sitting on the edge of their table.

Then there’s his friends. They have always been his friends, but he has never had the liberty to call them as such. In Aobajousai, he was their prince, and they were his soldiers, his guard. Iwaizumi was his knight and his subordinate above all else, at least the public. He no longer rules them and feels unsure of where he stands, if they think of him as a friend, or their leader. He does not know which he would prefer, so he does not ask.

He feels as if he's thought of all of this before, but cannot remember. The thought troubles him, but like so many of his thoughts, it drifts away.

“There’s a merchant caravan traveling by land that will let us join for a price,” Matsukawa says. “We’d leave the day after tomorrow."

“Is the price reasonable?” Iwaizumi asks before taking a bite of a massive chicken leg.

“Yeah, and for a bit more, they could get us some camels so we won’t have to walk the whole way.”

“Ugh, camels stink,” Hanamaki says. “I never thought I would miss the smell of horse shit until I smelled camel shit.”

“I haven’t seen many horses since coming here,” Kindaichi says, like he’s just now realized it.

“Camels retain water better than horses,” Oikawa says. They all turn to look at him. He can’t recall if he’s said anything before this, so he cannot determine exactly why they turn to look at him, if they are surprised or merely attentive. “The biggest towns are on the coast, but most of the kingdom is a desert so horses are impractical if you want to travel across it.”

“Where are the merchants going?” Iwaizumi asks.

“South to a place called Saltshore,” Matsukawa says. “They told me where they’re staying so we can go meet them tomorrow to go over the details.”

Iwaizumi nods.

* * *

Oikawa's dreams no longer feel like dreams. They feel like the past leaking into the present, the two separate to everyone but him. They are so vividly real that it feels wrong to call them a memory. They are moments twice lived. 

The winter winds bite at Oikawa’s face as his horse gallops down the length of the stadium, empty except for him and the Riders. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are cheering in the standing, whistling and shouting rambunctiously, but Oikawa drowns them out. The targets are well-spaced for a beginner, but Oikawa is no beginner. He buries an arrow into the center of the four targets.

He slows his horse before circling back to Kageyama at the other end of the stadium. The boy looks awkward next to his horse, the third child from Oikawa’s favorite breeding couple. Its mother is a white mare that was gifted to him from his sister, its father a strong gray stallion whose lineage could be traced back generations through Oikawa’s family. The first child, a pure white mare with a black mane, belongs to Oikawa, while the second, a gray mare, was a gift to Iwaizumi when he became a knight. The third, a spotted gray stallion, now belongs to Kageyama.

In the front row of the stands, Oikawa can see Matsukawa and Hanamaki exchanging money. Iwaizumi says something that makes both Kindaichi and Kunimi smile, and Oikawa wonders what it was. It's rare to say something that makes both Kindaichi and Kunimi smile. Usually, it's one or the other. 

“I showed you like you asked,” Oikawa says, and he only did that much because Iwaizumi told him to be more personable to the boy. He dismounts and strokes the mane of his white horse in praise for galloping straight and steady. She turns her head, trying to press and nuzzle up against him, and he smiles. "You did well," he says to her.

“Can you show me one more time?” Kageyama asks. 

Oikawa's horse stomps her front foot, as if she is also irritated with the boy as well. Or, perhaps she wants a carrot to go along with the words of praise. 

Oikawa says, “You’ve been taking riding lessons with Kindaichi and Sir Knight for a month now. They tell me you can ride just fine. Yet you refuse to shoot a bow even when your horse is standing still. At this rate, you’ll never improve.”

“I just want to see you do it one more time, Prince Oikawa."

“If you want to learn, then you need to do it yourself,” Oikawa says, his tone final. “You can’t learn something without ever trying.”

Oikawa walks over, takes the reins of Kageyama’s horse, and hands them to the boy.

“You can mount a horse by yourself, can’t you? Or do I need to call down Sir Knight to help you?” Oikawa teases lightheartedly.

“I can do it myself,” Kageyama says. He takes the reins from Oikawa, who crosses his arms to watch the boy mount the large gray stallion.

Then, Kageyama rides, bow raised and arrow nocked.

* * *

“Prince Oikawa,” Kageyama says, shaking his shoulder, “it’s time to wake up.”

He wakes, but it is not on the pelts of his tent or the plush bed in his room at the castle. Wherever he is, the room glows silver with moonlight and Kageyama is nowhere to be found. He hears Iwaizumi snore, but does not feel Iwaizumi’s arms wrapped around his waist, nor does he feel the comfortable heat from his body.

Where is this? 

When is this?

He looks down and sees Iwaizumi sleeping soundly on the hard-wooden floor, only a blanket beneath him. Confusion and drowsiness fog Oikawa’s shambled mind, slowing his thoughts. He tries to piece everything together. Some things fit together slowly—Inarizaki, the Ivory Port, an inn with a ridiculous name—while the rest remain in shambles—why isn’t Iwaizumi in bed with him?

“Hajime, wake up,” he whispers.

Immediately, Iwaizumi sits, scans the room for intruders or danger, then lets his eyes settle on Oikawa. He asks, “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Come to bed,” Oikawa says, not wanting to explain how it was not a nightmare, or dream. He does not want or know how to explain that it was a ghost haunting him, his greatest failure. 

Iwaizumi rubs his face, exhausted. “You didn’t want me to touch you.”

“What?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t repeat himself.

Oikawa feels like he’s lost more time again. Sometimes, he’s afraid of what he’s lost, of what he’s forgotten. He wonders if it's better off lost, drifting forever in the recesses of his mind, but he has always been greedy. He has always wanted more. He wants it back. He wants to remember. He wants to move forward and put this all behind him. He just doesn't know how.

“You can’t learn without ever trying, Prince Oikawa,” Kageyama says.

Without a word, Oikawa holds out his hand, his fingers splayed. Iwaizumi laces their hands together with a slow caution, like he is touching a wild animal that’s been startled.

And with that touch, finally, Oikawa remembers.

Iwaizumi had joined him after a drink at the bar downstairs. When he crawled into bed with him, Oikawa flinched so hard, his body nearly fell off the bed. He felt like a caged animal, everything too loud and too much. Iwaizumi smoothed a hand over his waist, a touch that was meant to be comforting, and Oikawa turned to shove him. From the floor where he fell, Iwaizumi looked like he wanted to shout, chest heaving and hands balled into fists, but he just grabbed the blanket and lied on the floor.

It all comes back so quickly. Oikawa’s lungs feel like they’re in his throat.

“Hajime, I’m sor—"

“Don’t,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m not angry at you, so don’t apologize.”

Oikawa brushes his thumb gently across the edge of Iwaizumi’s hand. He matter-of-factly says, “You should be angry,” because Iwaizumi did not fight men and gods and demons to bring him back so that he could push him away. Iwaizumi did not fight to save this shell of a human being. He fought to save Oikawa Tooru, not the broken remnants of the man. 

“You didn’t mean it,” Iwaizumi says. He shakes his head. “You don’t even remember it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Oikawa says. A heavy, cold wave crashes into him and swallows him whole. He is choking on the memories of what he did. “Nothing I do will ever make things right. The things I did can’t be forgiven. I should have died in your arms on that battlefield. I told you it was okay to let me die. I wanted you to let me die!”

Iwaizumi squeezes his hand.

Oikawa clenches his jaw so tightly he wonders if his teeth will shatter. He is tired of feeling weak. He is tired of not remembering. He is tired of these ghosts in his mind haunting him. He is so, so tired. 

He says this, his voice a quiet whisper, "I'm tired, Hajime," and it feels like defeat to admit it out loud.

He tugs gently on Iwaizumi’s arm, urging Iwaizumi to come join him in bed. Iwaizumi wordlessly grabs the blanket and crawls into bed next to him. They hold each other close and don’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of names for towns/oases so half of them are from video games.


	3. Stability

Oikawa’s memories of the trip south to Saltshore blur into the sound of the ocean, the sight of a fire at night, and the feeling of the smooth wooden shafts of his arrows. Every night, he tends to the arrows in his quiver, though he knows they are perfect because he has not shot a bow of his own freewill since before the demon took hold. The demon had no use for human weapons when it had its festering dark magic, but it still used Oikawa’s bow for its twisted hunts in the forests.

He has no desire to shoot his bow any time soon, the sword he carries on his hip enough for him. Still, he counts and tends to the arrows, the monotonous, familiar task grounding him and pushing back those awful memories. It does not ground him the way Iwaizumi’s touch does, but it grounds him all the same.

Though the trip blurs, he vividly remembers parting ways with the merchant caravan when scattered fishing huts along rocky shores turned to clusters of larger buildings indicative of a nearby city. The clay buildings of the Ivory Port had all been a sun-bleached white, but here in Saltshore, the buildings are made of a hodgepodge of materials—wood, clay, brick, stone, and other earthy materials mixing together indiscriminately.

He recalls Hanamaki and Matsukawa arguing over which skewers to buy from a street merchant, and the way Kindaichi pointed out a cat harassing a seagull to Kunimi, and how Iwaizumi had looked back over his shoulder at him to see if he was okay.

He does not remember what happened next. 

The next thing he knows, he’s in bed in an inn in the thinnest clothes he has, his shirt rucked up towards his ribs to expose his stomach in some desperate attempt to cool down. He left the window open in hopes a breeze would drift through, but it only brought in the sounds and smells from outside—the distant crash of waves, the scent of well-charred fish, and the voices of his friends.

He sits and moves to the window, looking out to see the others have their window open too. Their voices are quiet, barely audible, but Oikawa focuses and listens.

“I think he needs some sort of stability to get better,” Iwaizumi says.

“Was it like this with Kuroo?” Kindaichi asks. “You guys traveled a lot after his exorcism and he still got better, right?”

“We did travel a lot,” Iwaizumi concedes, “but he had Kenma there and Tsukishima. They were his stability.”

“And we’re Tooru’s,” Hanamaki says.

“But staying in one place might help,” Iwaizumi argues. “If there’s any chance staying here long-term helps him get better—"

“What if he doesn’t get better?” Kunimi asks seriously, his tone carefully neutral to hide whatever feelings he has about the answer to the question. “What is this is as good as it’s going to get?”

“But Kuroo—" Hanamaki says.

Kunimi cuts him off, “Kuroo wasn’t possessed as long as him and Kuroo’s demon was significantly weaker. We have to accept the reality that Tooru may be like this for the rest of his life.”

There’s a long pause, no one daring to speak as they weigh and maul over Kunimi’s words. Oikawa feels like he's in a dream, or a nightmare.

“I don’t know if he will get better,” Iwaizumi says, “but we have to try and give him every opportunity to recover. If that means staying put for a while, then that’s what we’re doing. It’s safer for us here than it was at Ivory Port. We can stay here longer before we have to move again.”

"We'll need to find jobs," Matsukawa says, "or the inn keeper will get suspicious about how we're paying for these rooms."

Oikawa returns to bed and falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The Riders all come from different walks of life—Hanamaki an orphan, Matsukawa the bastard son of a nobleman and his favorite prostitute, Kunimi a magical assassin, and Kindaichi the son of the royal blacksmith. As they set off to find jobs, Kindaichi naturally seeks out an apprenticeship with a local blacksmith. In Inarizaki, ore is minded from the mountains to the west, but there are still plenty of blacksmiths along the eastern coast. Oikawa follows him on his endeavors, walking the hot streets to find hotter forges, rippling ropes of heat rising from the fires. He does not know if he drifts in and out of time, as the city is still unfamiliar and the forges all look the same to someone like him. 

From his count, they visit nearly seven shops, some telling him to come back tomorrow if he's determined and others telling him to fuck off. Kindaichi does not lose hope, but he does grow tired so Oikawa suggests they stop for food and drink before continuing on for the day. They buy fish and couscous, and find the most isolated table at the tavern.

Oikawa eats more slowly than Kindaichi and all the other Riders, a habit from his old life he has yet to shake. Kindaichi waits patiently, used to this, as are all the other Riders. His eyes move around, looking out the window towards the ocean and at the other patrons scattered throughout the tavern. Then, his eyes settle on Oikawa.

"Tobio gave that to you, didn't he?" Kindaichi asks quietly, looking at Oikawa's hand. He poses it as a question, but he sounds quite certain of it. "We saw him give you his bow and something else at the docks."

Oikawa says, "He did," with a careful neutrality because he cannot tell why Kindaichi would bring this up.

It's so rare for the Riders to bring up Kageyama. After Oikawa ordered the boy to leave Seijoh—and he was just a boy, a child that Oikawa failed to guide because he was too proud—they never seemed to mention Kageyama again. His bed was removed from the room he shared with Kindaichi and Kunimi. Oikawa's bowyer did not ask if Kageyama needed to be fitted for a new thumb ring as gossip spreads fast in castles and he had surely heard of Kageyama's departure. Even on the rare occasions when Oikawa let the Riders join him in the royal bath beneath the castle, no one ever mentioned or looked at the scars on Kindaichi's back, the only tangible evidence that Kageyama was once one of them and that he had failed.

Despite never talking about him, it has always been clear how the others feel about the matter. Kunimi holds the most resentment towards Kageyama because Kindaichi is perhaps the one person he might betray Oikawa and Iwaizumi for. Matsukawa and Hanamaki let their anger fester, but it fizzled away with time, replaced by unspoken shame and regret. A year after Kageyama left, Iwaizumi swore to Oikawa that he would never teach another child how to wield a weapon and Oikawa did not have to ask why. Kindaichi is the only one Oikawa could not get a read on, which is strange because for most other matters, Kindaichi wears his heart on his sleeve.

Oikawa continues to eat, waiting to see if Kindaichi will continue. 

"I'm actually glad things happened the way they did with him," Kindaichi says. He smiles, but it's not one of fond memories. It's bitter in a way he rarely is. "At least he didn't have to go through what we did. I don't think he would have handled that curse well."

The salt on his tongue and the notes of smoke in the fish keep Oikawa grounded in this time. The flavors are too different from anything in Aobajousai or Karasuno. Such strong, foreign flavors cannot coexist with his memories and for now, his mind stays in the present. 

Oikawa asks, "And how are you handling it?"

Oikawa does not look at him when he asks this, not wanting to put pressure on him. When Kindaichi does not answer, Oikawa can only assume he is not handling it well at all.

Kindaichi, Kunimi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki were not possessed by a demon, but for a time, they too were under its control. As Oikawa rampaged in Karasuno, the Riders were placed under a spell and watched over Seijoh Castle. They kept order for the demon, spreading fear and pain throughout the capital by any means necessary, whether that meant letting people freeze during the winters, or letting orphans of the war die of hunger, or throwing dissenters into the prison to rot.

Oikawa does not know all the details and he does not wish to. He has always taken accountability for them, shouldered the blame as their leader when something went wrong, but he knows he cannot handle any more weight. He fears that if he takes on any more guilt, he will bend, or he will break, and he is not eager to find out which it will be.

"I thought you would be talking to Akira about this, or Hajime," Oikawa says gently, finally looking at him again.

Kindaichi looks so much younger, like he had when they first met, his shoulders hunched hiding his height and his eyes cast to the side. Back then, he would sneak off when his father brought weapons to the castle and watch the knights practice. He was the son of the royal blacksmith, but he was still a commoner and commoners could never be knights. Oikawa often wonders how different Kindaichi's life would be if Iwaizumi didn't train him into a warrior, a knight in all but the name. He might not have scars on his back. He might not have been cursed. He might have gone through life without seeing the horrors he did. 

Kindaichi says, "Hajime doesn't really get it. He was never under the demon's control the way we were. And I've tried to talk to Akira, but every time I bring it up, he says, 'It wasn't us, it was a spell,' or changes the subject entirely. I know it's affecting him more than he's letting on, but he won't talk about it with me."

Oikawa tries to think of the Kunimi he knows, not the one that came to Inarizaki. The Kunimi that took so long to open up, to become what society deems as normal. The Kunimi that fed stray cats and always had an extra apple for his horse. The Kunimi that refused to drink more than a glass of wine because he becomes giggly, laughing at everything. The Kunimi that could always tell when one of them was off their game and watched their back to keep them safe if trouble arose. 

He does not know how Kunimi has changed since then, only that he has. They all changed one or another after what they saw, what they did. The only thing of which Oikawa is certain: Kunimi would do anything for them, but most of all for Kindaichi. 

"He may just need time," Oikawa says. "Even after all these years, he still defaults to repressing unpleasant feelings."

"I don't want him to go back to his old habits, or to how he was when we first met." 

"As long as you're there for him when he's ready to talk, he won't go back to his old habits." Oikawa pushes the plate across the table and says, "Now eat, it'll make you feel better."

"But I already ate."

"Then eat more," Oikawa says with a smile that cannot be argued with. 

Kindaichi eats and Oikawa knows that both Kunimi and Kindaichi will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The total chapter count is now 11 instead of 10. It wouldn't be a Stars Aligned sequel if I didn't increase the chapter count at least once, right?


	4. Servitude

In the smaller towns near the southern border of Aobajousai, the people do not recognize their rulers. The royal family lives in a castle they will never see. Their protection comes from the Southern Fort and the smaller forts under its command, not some far off king. They are familiar with the knights that patrol the area, not the royal guard or the knights of the capital, and certainly not the crown prince and the Riders of Aobajousai that protect him.

It’s not uncommon for Oikawa to go unrecognized, especially when his attire is more modest. He can walk into a tavern as a stranger and leave as a stranger. He is not given free food and drink, and can pay the people for their work. He can hear what they truly think of their rulers, not what’s been filtered through the lines of communication. For a moment, he does not have to bear the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.

If Oikawa were given the choice to live his life as a common man or continue his life as a royal, he would only continue as a prince because he has the ability to help the thousands of people under his rule. As a common man, he would never be able to reach so many. If he is fortunate enough to have been born a royal, then he must rise to the challenge and do all he can for those less fortunate.

But for today, he is a man, not a prince. He wears Iwaizumi’s less extravagant clothing and walks into the rowdy tavern of this small town unnoticed. He and the Riders sit and eat and laugh as equals rather than ruler and subordinates. There are no eyes secretly watching them. There is no one to please. It is as close to being free as he will ever come. 

“Tobio, go get us another pitcher of wine,” Matsukawa says, handing off the empty pitcher to the younger boy.

Kageyama nods and goes to the bar.

“When are you going to stop ordering him around?” Kindaichi asks. “He’s been with us for over a year now. It feels… weird to treat him differently.”

Matsukawa points at Oikawa and says, “He orders Tobio around.”

“I am his prince,” Oikawa hisses quietly so no one nearby hears. “I can do whatever it is I want, including ordering him around.”

“On another power trip, huh?” Hanamaki jokes. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“You think his head is getting bigger?” Matsukawa stage whispers to Kindaichi.

Oikawa rolls his eyes and reaches for his goblet. Beneath the table, Iwaizumi gently kicks his leg, drawing a smile from Oikawa.

Kageyama returns a moment later, carrying the dangerously full pitcher with both hands. He sets it on the table and sits down, but his eyes do not return to the Riders. Oikawa follows the path of his eyes and sees two men in the kingdom armor given to knights. The two men are at the bar, one talking to the older woman behind it and the other counting coins in a tiny leather purse.

“Hajime, correct me if I’m wrong,” Oikawa says, though he knows he is not wrong, “but the patrol that collects taxes for the Southern Fort does not arrive at this town for another week.”

Iwaizumi sets down his goblet and licks his lips clean. In an instant, his demeanor changes. He sees the men in knight’s armor and the money being exchanged. He asks, “Kageyama, did you hear what they were talking about?”

“Taxes, like Prince Oikawa said,” Kageyama replies, frowning as he looks at the men in a different light, not as knights but as swindlers. “The lady at the bar said she didn’t have enough because they came early to collect.”

“Fakes, then?” Matsukawa asks.

“Seems that way,” Kunimi says.

Oikawa stands without giving an order, but he does not have to. The others know what to do in a situation like this. It isn’t the first time Oikawa enters a bar unnoticed and steps in to stop some sort of trouble. Hanamaki would jokingly call him a troublemaker, but they all know that’s not the truth. Oikawa does not start the trouble, he only seems to find it. Or, perhaps, there is trouble everywhere and he cannot sit by and watch it happen.

Oikawa approaches the bar, Iwaizumi following behind him while the others wait at the table. He taps one of the imposters on the shoulder and they turn to look at him.

“What’s the name of your commander?” Oikawa asks without introducing himself.

“Huh?” one of the men says.

The other says, “We’re knights, y’know, here collecting taxes on behalf of the kingdom.”

He has an ugly look that Oikawa supposes is meant to be intimidating, but power does not rest in the face. Power rests in the stance, in the grip on the hilt of a sword, in the speed of the arrow. A face and name mean nothing if one has no strength to provide along with it.

“Yes, I can see that,” Oikawa says with false pleasantry, “and I asked you the name of your commander.”

“Just let us do our job, yeah?”

Iwaizumi steps up to Oikawa’s side, one of his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. He says, “Knights of Aobajousai are supposed to give the name of their commander when asked. The rule was established so knights are held accountable for their actions.”

Oikawa tilts his head slightly towards Iwaizumi and says, “For example, his commanding officers are the head knight, Sir Mizoguchi, and the crown prince, Oikawa Tooru.”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t the fucking prince,” one of the men says, spitting at Oikawa’s feet.

Oikawa says, “And you are no knight of Aobajousai,” with a calm similar to the stillness before a storm.

Three movements happen simultaneously—the man advances towards Oikawa, who steps back, allowing Iwaizumi to come forward and replace him. Quickly, Iwaizumi draws his sword and holds its point to the man’s neck. The other man didn’t even have time to blink. Even if this man is just a common thief masquerading as a knight of Aobajousai, Iwaizumi treats this man like a worthy opponent, never once letting his guard down. 

“Put the money back on the bar,” Iwaizumi says, his voice harder than the steel of his sword, “and get out.”

The man must be stupid, or afraid, or both, because he pushes away Iwaizumi’s sword and draws his own weapon. Iwaizumi parries his blow and shoves him hard to put more space between them.

“Kunimi!” Oikawa calls out.

Not a second later, their armor and weapons turn molten red. The two imposters drop their swords, sweat beading on their foreheads as their metal armor burns with heat. They take off screaming, pushing and shoving everyone in their way, no doubt eager to jump into a pile of snow outside. The spell won't last long, Kunimi's staff already lowered, his face one of boredom.

“Should we follow them?” Matsukawa asks.

“Please do,” Oikawa replies calmly. “We’ll join you all shortly. I have some business to attend to here.”

Iwaizumi sheaves his sword. He then picks up the coin purse the thieves dropped and hands it to Oikawa, who sets it on the bar in front of the woman.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” he asks.

She nods, her face pressed with confusion. “Who were those men? They looked like knights.”

“They probably stole the armor,” Iwaizumi says. To Oikawa, he adds, “We’ll have to send a report to the Southern Fort. They’ll need to check their armory and their roster to see if anyone hasn’t sent a report on time. They might have targeted knights on patrol.”

“We’ll go in person,” Oikawa says and Iwaizumi nods. Oikawa reaches into his pocket for his own coin pouch. He takes out several coins, picking the gold and silver over the bronze. He asks the woman, “Will this be enough for our meal?”

“That is more than enough! I—I can’t possibly accept this.”

“Think of it as payment for the trouble those men caused you,” he says, putting the coins down on the bar despite her protests. “I’ll see to it that knights and soldiers collecting taxes carry proper documentation so you can identify any thieves in the future. I’ll also arrange for an investigation to make sure no one else in town was swindled out of their money.”

“How can you make that promise?” the woman asks. 

“Because I am Prince Oikawa Tooru.”

* * *

There is no central market in Saltshore. Merchants line the streets with wooden stalls, others on the ground with their wares on carpets. Down by the docks, there is fresh fish caught earlier that morning and food of all kinds being cooked out in the open. Everywhere they go, someone is selling something that Oikawa has never seen or tasted before. Even three weeks after arriving in Saltshore, he still seems to find something new.

He walks through the streets with Matsukawa, who works nights as muscle at a bar, making sure people pay their tabs and the drunks stay in line. During the day, he's free to do as he wishes and today, he is out with Oikawa, shopping for nothing in particular, content to enjoy the coolness of a cloudy day.

It had been a rough morning, a nightmare that left him drenched in sweat and reaching for the dagger underneath the pillows to strike at a foe that did not exist outside his mind. Iwaizumi was not there to see his shameful fear and after several shaky breaths, Oikawa returned the dagger beneath the pillows. 

Walking through the city helps, the scents and sounds still new enough to separate the past from the present. Matsukawa helps as well, his silence comfortably familiar. 

As they walk, they come across a dreadful scene. To the side of the street, a bruised man dressed in tattered scraps is on his knees, pleading as an impeccably well-dressed man hits him with his cane. The people on the streets walk around them, like they are stepping around a minor inconvenience instead of a horrific sight.

Memories flash through Oikawa’s mind, moving fast as arrows, one after another.

People running through the forests, trying to escape him, but their bare feet leave prints in the snow and the chains on their hands rattle louder than any deer. They are not hard to find. They are not hard to kill. 

Prison cells overflowing with innocent people, their faces gaunt from starvation. Some he recognized, knights that swore to protect his family and women in the market that would smile at him ages ago. Then, as the hunger sets in and dirt cakes their skin and illnesses spreads in the damp air, they become unrecognizable. 

Dead children hanging from roping outside Seijoh Castle as signs of warning, their bodies frozen by the winter winds and unable to rot to the bone. The demon gazes at them for long periods of time, forcing Oikawa to look through his own eyes, until he is so distraught he wants to dive a dagger into his own throat. The demon always looks a moment longer. 

The memories take his breath away. He sees and feels them so vividly he must be living them again—the smell of blood, the crunch of snow, the maggots in the bread he gave to prisoners like they were dogs instead of human beings worthy of dignity and respect.

It takes all of his might to keep his legs straight and not crumble to the ground.

Matsukawa stops dead in his tracks and stares at the sight. His expression alone tells Oikawa he is furious at the sight and the reaction of the people around them. 

Oikawa fights the unease and the memories as best he can. He puts his hand flat against Matsukawa’s back and urges him forward. He wonders if Matsukawa can feel the cold sweat on his hand, or the trembling of his arm. 

“We need to keep moving,” Oikawa says quietly, pushing gently. His voice, at least, he forces steady.

“What?” Matsukawa says sharply, angry at Oikawa for even suggesting it.

“ _You can’t do anything_ ,” that thing whispers in the back of his mind, memories mixing with reality. “ _You have no control here, no power. They are suffering because you are too weak to stop it."_

Matsukawa tears his eyes away and looks at Oikawa.

As a child, Oikawa had tutors that taught him the history, politics, economies, and cultures of all known kingdoms and empires, including the ones Aoabjousai had never had formal contact with, such as Inarizaki. On the ship that brought them here from Karasuno, he would have passed on all that he knew to the others.

Iwaizumi would have already known the military history of Inarizaki, its greatest battles and strongest warriors. Matsukawa would have surprising insights into its exported goods from growing up in a southern port town near Karasuno’s border, while Hanamaki would know of their poor and the stories they told, the ones that escaped to start a new life in a far-off place. Kindaichi and Kunimi would be knowledgeable in the weapons common in Inarizaki, though they had this knowledge for very different reasons—Kindaichi as the son of the royal blacksmith and Kunimi as an assassin.

Matsukawa should already be aware of the darker side of Inarizaki, as it is not something Oikawa would forget to mention. He supposes that hearing of how the desperate poor sell their lives to the rich and powerful for larges of sums is different than seeing it in person. How they've gone so long without seeing it, Oikawa does not know. Perhaps people prefer to deal their punishments indoors, or perhaps they were never in the right place at the right time.

The people of Inarizaki call it “indentured servitude,” likely because the true term for the act of buying another’s life is too sickening for them to ignore and accept. “Slavery” is the word Oikawa always used in his mind when studying Inarizaki. In most cases, people enter contracts willingly, as willing as a person can be when they’re watching their family slowly starve to death. They sell their bodies for weeks or months or years and give the bulk sum of money to their families. In some cases, people are sold as true slaves, their contracts forged by their masters.

The idea made him sick as a child and it makes him sick now.

No matter how disgusting it is, he says, “There’s nothing we can do. It’s part of the culture here, no matter how wrong it seems to us.”

“Just because it’s part of a culture doesn’t make it right.”

“Defying it will only draw unwanted attention to ourselves. We can’t do anything. We need to move.”

“Then I think I need you to order me,” Matsukawa says. His voice is quiet, but it is not soft. It's hard with a threat that if Oikawa does not stop him, nothing will. 

All his life, Oikawa defined himself by his title. He was a prince, a king. Now, he does not know what he is, only what he is not and he knows he is no king. He has no right to give orders, no right to rule anyone.

Yet when Matsukawa says he needs an order, Oikawa looks hims dead in the eyes and gives one. “Move, Issei.”

With his hands balled into fists at his side, Matsukawa nods and walks forward. 


	5. Prayer

Oikawa's mother died when he was quite young and as the years pass, he does not know if that is a blessing or a curse. Every noble and merchant that visits Seijoh Castle is given a tour of its stone halls and they always comment on her wedding portrait. “What a stunning woman,” they would say. "A gorgeous soul taken too soon," others would say, fake tears in their eyes for a woman they never met. Her sickness and weaknesses never showed in paint the way it did in real life. She was immortalized with beauty and courage rather than snow-white skin, gaunt cheeks, and bloody hands. 

Most of his memories of his mother involve her helping the common people living in the capital—teaching the children at the orphanage to read, handing out flowers from her garden in summer, and helping the elderly carry their baskets home from the market. In those memories, she is tired and ill. In the rest of his memories, she sits next to him, silently praying. There, by the sacred pond hidden in the forest behind the castle, her sickly pale skin always seemed warmer in color and the cracks on her frail thin-skinned hands stopped bleeding. 

Now, she sleeps at the bottom of the pond she loved so dearly. Oikawa was too young to lead a hunt before she died, so the pelts she was wrapped in were prizes from her husband’s hunts. Years later, when Oikawa has lived longer without her than with her, Kuroo becames the Arc Mage. Oikawa asks him if it would be inappropriate to wrap a pelt in iron chains and send it to the bottom of the pond for her. Kuroo says he did not know and would look into the matter. A few weeks later, they make their way to the pond and Kuroo helps Oikawa send a beautiful fox pelt to the bottom of the pond to keep his mother warm.

Since his mother’s death, he’s prayed at the pond in private, except for when his family goes together on important holidays and the anniversary of his mother’s death. Oikawa does not share his faith with many. Most think he secretly broke his vows to stay pure until he came of age, or that his sacred vows were only for show, more for the women than the men so they did not become pregnant out of wedlock. They never even consider that he is honest in his faith, that he truly believes in the gods. 

Iwaizumi sometimes accompanies him to the pond, but he does not pray because he has no faith in the gods. Iwaizumi has faith in the strength of men, and steel, and power, but not in beings he cannot see. Oikawa does not care if his sworn knight believes in the gods or not so long as he does not mock Oikawa for his own belief. (He never does.)

Now, he walks alone through the snowy forest behind the castle, his fur-trimmed cloak billowing behind him. He hears the gentle crunch of snow that does not match his own footsteps or those of any creatures that live in the forest. He listens closely, the footsteps continuing to follow, and he puts a hand on the dagger hidden in the breast of his cloak.

The footsteps grow closer and closer. Oikawa stops suddenly and turns, dagger drawn.

Kageyama stares at him, red-cheeked and startled.

Oikawa lowers his dagger.

“You shouldn’t follow me out here,” Oikawa says, no apology in his voice. The sacred pond is not open to the public and the paths leading to it are largely unmarked, known only to royalty, knights, and the people closest to them.

Kageyama bows and says, “I’m sorry, Prince Oikawa, but I thought you were going hunting and I wanted to watch.”

“When do I ever go hunting without being accompanied by knights or the Riders?”

Kageyama rises, his face as red as a holly berry. Oikawa cannot tell if it is from shame or the cold winter air. If it is shame, it’s not strong enough to stop him from asking, “If you’re not going hunting, then why are you going into the forest by yourself?”

Oikawa says, “I’m going to visit my mother and pray.”

He does not explain further. He turns and continues walking, and leaves it up to Kageyama whether he wants to follow and face Oikawa’s wrath, or return to the castle without an explanation.

Unsurprisingly, Kageyama follows.

The pond sits in a clearing in the trees where it is always warmer than the rest of the forest. The snowfall is always gentle, the winds still, the wildlife calm and docile. Come summer, the pond is surrounded by the most beautiful wildflowers in all of Aobajousai and songbirds flock to the lowest branches to find a mate. The pond is the heart of the forest, but beneath the still surface of the water, Oikawa's ancestors rest for eternity. 

Oikawa looks to Kageyama and says, “This place is sacred, so show some respect.”

“Why?” Kageyama asks.

“This is where I was baptized as a child. This is where knights swear their oaths. And this is where my ancestors are laid to rest, including my mother.”

“Why?” Kageyama repeats. Oikawa glares at him, but Kageyama just stares back, oblivious to the emotion behind Oikawa’s gaze.

Oikawa exhales, releasing his frustration.

He says, “Long ago, a god took on a mortal form in the shape of a caribou. The god watched over the lands of this kingdom and, when it died, it died in this pond. My family believes the god continues to watch over this kingdom and our family. We come here to show our respects to the god and our ancestors.”

Oikawa drops to his knees in front of the pool of water that never freezes even in the coldest of winters. Lacking the grace that Oikawa has from repeating the motion hundreds of times, Kageyama gets down onto his knees next to him. He is close enough that he accidentally bumps into Oikawa as he settles into a comfortable position. Oikawa clenches his jaw.

“Is this okay, Prince Oikawa?” Kageyama asks.

Oikawa looks at him. He’s eager, even though this place means nothing to him. Is he eager to please, or eager to learn? His mother would say to let him stay no matter the reason.

“Do what you like,” Oikawa says. “Just be quiet.”

Kageyama nods very seriously.

Oikawa gazes into the sapphire water and closes his eyes to pray.

* * *

Oikawa wakes in place with sand instead of snow, the room sticky with humidity and smelling of salt. The only things that are immediately familiar are the morning sun coming through the window and the sight of Iwaizumi sitting on the bed next to him. He sits without a shirt, gazing out the window towards this unfamiliar land, waiting for Oikawa to wake up. The thought fills Oikawa with more warmth than the sun could ever hope to.

When they first arrived at Saltshore, Iwaizumi stayed by Oikawa's side, but as the days went on, Oikawa pushed him to work because he knew it was inevitable. Iwaizumi already saved him once; Oikawa does not need to be saved again. It took time to convince him, but Iwaizumi now works at the docks hauling crates and other heavy objects for elderly fishermen. It's hard, endless work, yet Iwaizumi never complains even when he returns at dusk bone-tired. Today is his first day off since beginning nearly a month ago and he chose to spend his day off with Oikawa. Then again, there was no doubt that he would. 

Oikawa moves and rests his head on Iwaizumi’s thigh, an arm casually draped over his lap. When Iwaizumi looks down at him and sees him awake, he smiles.

“How are you feeling?” Iwaizumi asks.

“I want to pray by the sea,” Oikawa says.

“That’s not an answer.”

Oikawa hums, smiling. His hand plays with the waist of Iwaizumi’s pants. “Isn’t it?” he says, knowing full well it is and is not an answer.

Iwaizumi reaches down and thumbs gently at Oikawa’s bottom lip. Oikawa looks up at him, parting his lips just barely at the touch. The way Iwaizumi looks at him could make Oikawa believe he is more than a man. He wonders if this is how the gods feel when he prays to them. Slowly, Oikawa kisses his thumb, never looking away from those dark, reverent eyes.

Then Iwaizumi's hand moves, his thumb tracing gently Oikawa's cheek. He says, “You’re in a good mood,” like he is both hesitant and eager to believe it.

“I am. My mind is clear as the sky. I feel..."

Normal is not the right word. He has yet to establish what normal is in this place.

He evades the question because he has no answer. He asks, “Will you come with me when I pray?”

“If you want me there, then I’ll be there.”

Oikawa pushes himself up and kisses him properly, kisses him slowly, kisses him with the weight of that reverential gaze and more. 

His moments of clarity often come and go, but this one has yet to fizzle away and he wants to take advantage of it. He lets his hands linger on Iwaizumi’s ribs as Iwaizumi shaves him on the floor of the room, their legs tangled from how close they sit, practically in one another's laps. He eats slowly, savoring the spiced meat and fresh bread they have for breakfast downstairs. And when they go outside, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, soaking in the heat of the sun and the feeling of Iwaizumi’s hand in his, no secret to hide.

Some days, he thinks he lost everything when he came to this place. Then, he remembers that he did not lose everything. He did not lose _him._

They have been in Saltshore for close to two months now, Oikawa thinks, though the exactly number of days eludes him. Neither of them knows all the streets of Saltshore, but they do not need to today. They follow the view of the ocean, walking through the twisted streets with no urgency. They pass through a market and Oikawa’s eyes are drawn to fresh cut melons and items bearing the mark of the sun god, Andel—jewelry, clothing, and elegant tapestries with an eye inside of a sun. 

When they exit the city, they avoid the ports and walk along the coast. The sand at the Ivory Port had been white, but here the sand is tan with tiny shells that crunch beneath their feet and crabs that burrow in the wet sand. Young children laugh and run by in the opposite direction and Oikawa thinks his mother would have loved this place.

They walk quietly until they are completely alone in their silence, Oikawa enjoying the clarity of the day and Iwaizumi content to be by Oikawa’s side. With no one else around but Iwaizumi, Oikawa releases his hand approaches the ocean. Iwaizumi will watch him, so Oikawa does not bother himself with worrying over whether people will approach them, or any other distractions that may come.

When he drops to his knees, the dry sand shifts and folds around him. He looks at the water, as deep in color as the pond he remembers, and closes his eyes to pray. Instantly, his senses are overwhelmed, the world loud in volume and sensation.

The scratch of the sand. The roar of the waves. The salt of the sea. The weight of Iwaizumi’s eyes.

Oikawa bows his head and slows his thoughts, blocking out the rest of the world.

The roar of the waves. The salt of the sea. The weight of Iwaizumi’s eyes.

(“What do I do?” Kageyama asked quietly as he knelt beside Oikawa at the pond.)

The roar of the waves. The weight of Iwaizumi’s eyes.

(“Focus,” Oikawa said. “Block out everything in the world around you.”)

The weight of Iwaizumi’s eyes.

(“Then, when the world is quiet,” Oikawa said, “you listen.”)

The world goes quiet and Oikawa listens.

When he prays, his mind drifts and he is at peace. He only finds solace like this when he is in Iwaizumi’s arms and when he is on his knees near the water. He has not prayed since before he was possessed, and he missed the peace that came along with it more than he realized. 

He did not think he deserved to even attempt to talk to the gods after the havoc the demon wreaked on the world and his body. He does not know if the gods will ever respond to his prayers again, if he is tainted beyond by their grace, but he will not stop praying to them. These days, he is lost and despises himself for it. He hates the worthless pride he clings to, and the pity his friends have in their eyes, and the way he can't even hold the man he loves without wanting to claw off his own skin.

The demon nearly took everything from him. Now, it's gone but it still takes and takes and _takes_. He will not let the demon take anything else. He will not let it take his faith, too.

So he sits, and he prays, and he listens. 

“ _Find me in the sands_.”

He opens his eyes because the last time he heard a voice whisper to him, it was the voice of a demon. But this voice sounds different from the demon. This voice is lighter and far away, like a gust of dry wind over endless sand dunes. It beckons him and draws him closer, but he does not know where. 

In front of him, the ocean shrinks, drowning in a sea of sand until only a long strip of motionless water is left. Green palm trees and colorful flowers sprout from the ground around the water. The image so vivid he can smell the damp grass and the sweet flowers, and he can feel the heat of the desert sun on his neck. The only thing that compares to its beauty is the evening sun shining in Iwaizumi's eyes and the sight of his arrow in a far off target.

A hand comes down on his shoulder.

Oikawa blinks and the image is gone, replaced by the ocean near Saltshore. The tide has risen, the edges of the waves soaking through his pants before receding with a blanket of pearlescent foam. Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi. He feels dazed, but when he focuses on Iwaizumi’s hand, the feeling dissipates.

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks, a panicked edge to his voice. “You got really tense. I've never seen you get like that when praying."

Once again, he does not answer Iwaizumi’s question. He says, “I think we should go to an oasis,” and Iwaizumi does not ask why. Even if he had, Oikawa would not be able to give him an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sacred pond is probably one of my favorite locations from Stars Aligned. I always enjoyed writing scenes that took place there and some of my favorite moments from the original fic take place at the pond. There's Kuroo's flashback to seeing the dead god, Iwaizumi being knighted, the Riders taking their oath, Iwaizumi cussing out a god--honestly the list just goes on and on.
> 
> And I usually don't talk about the music I listen to while writing, but I listened to "Lovers' Eyes" by Mumford & Sons on repeat while writing this chapter. In fact, I listened to their album "Babel" on repeat while writing a lot of this fic, but that one song in particular really fits this chapter.


	6. Wellspring

There is little discussion about where they will travel to. Wellspring is the most easily accessible oasis in the scorching desert at the core of Inarizaki and is the closest to Saltshore. The others do not ask why they are leaving, trusting in both Iwaizumi and Oikawa. They pack what meager belongings they have and set off for Wellspring as soon as they can.

Many people in the kingdom go their entire lives without traversing into the dangerous desert, content to live on the coast and travel the periphery by foot or by boat. For many, the oases are a fabled escape from their lives as poor workers and slaves. Then, there are the ones that willingly enter the desert in search of riches hidden beneath the sand. The ruins of an ancient civilization are buried beneath the sand and people hire guides familiar with the turbulent desert dunes to take them out on expeditions in search of wealth and fame.

 _Find me in the sands_ , that voice had said. Oikawa does not know who or what he is looking for, or if there is anything at all to be found, but he must try.

The journey from Saltshore to Wellspring takes two days on camel. Like the people that search out treasure in the desert sands, Oikawa and the others hire a guide to take them safely through the desert to Wellspring. There is more than gold hidden beneath the sand. Dangerous creatures lurk beneath the surface, waiting for unsuspecting victims. Fortunately, their night spent in the desert is uneventful.

The next day, from the top of a sand dune, they spot Wellspring, a garden in an ocean of shifting yellow sand. At its core is a long pool of fresh water, the source of life at the oasis. The pool of water is large and has not run dry once since its discovery nearly three hundred years ago, allowing plant life and a sizable town to flourish at the edge of the desert.

It’s the most green Oikawa has seen since arriving in this kingdom and he finds it hard to look away. He always loved summer in northern Aobajousai and the beauty that came along with it—the waves of wildflowers along the hills, the wobbly-knee baby deer that would wander into the castle gardens, and the songbirds that flew into the rafters of the bell tower to make their nests and sing along with the bell. He was always careful not to love those days too much for they were short and all its beauty would soon be covered by snow. Here in Inarizaki, the land of summer, there is no winter to cover the beauty.

By the time they reach Wellspring, the sun has set entirely, but the town is bright like a star. Strings of lanterns cross overhead, strung from building to building. And where there is no light overheard, there is a flickering torch or light pouring from a window. Fabric canopies trap the heat at night and block the sun during the day, the palm trees doing the same.

Their guides suggest they search for an inn on the south side of town, saying the northern part is more dangerous. They thank their guides once more before they part ways.

Following that advice, Iwaizumi and Oikawa enter an inn on the south side of town while the others wait outside. Large groups sit at the round tables, laughing and singing, discussing plans to enter the desert in search of riches. The inn keeper says they have no rooms, and the next tells them the same. At the third inn, they hear it again.

“If you can’t find an inn, Blue Castle on the north side probably has some rooms open,” the owner says. “Andel knows they don’t have enough girls to fill all those rooms.”

“Is it a brothel?” Oikawa asks.

“Yeah. Used to be a dance hall ‘til all the dancers were gone and now, well.” The man sighs. “It ain’t what it used to be, but it’s got plenty of space, that’s for certain.”

“We’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for your time.”

Oikawa hands him a bronze coin in return for the information. The man nods in thanks and they leave.

After exhausting all options on this side of town, they make their way north to the area their guides had warned them about. It certainly is poorer, and Oikawa notices more knives and weapons visibly displayed, but they find two adjacent rooms at the first inn they enter and so they do not have to wander the streets for long. 

Iwaizumi and Oikawa go into the one room, while the others take the second. They're too tired to care about the state of this part of town, their only concern setting down their belongings and lying their heads down for the night. One after another, Oikawa and Iwaizumi fall into bed. 

* * *

Iwaizumi falls asleep almost instantly. Oikawa takes longer, his mind racing. Usually Iwaizumi’s presence is enough to calm him, but all he can think about is that voice. _Find me in the sands_. Was coming here a mistake? The others had jobs in Saltshore. They could have made a safe, normal life there. Yet he dragged them away into the desert in search of what? Something, or someone, that may or may not exist?

Oikawa hears the door in the adjacent room open and close. It’s the room Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Kindaichi, and Kunimi are sharing. He listens to the footsteps, trying to figure out who it is, but Iwaizumi is making deep, murmuring noises that made it hard to hear.

It’s the type of thing he should not have to worry about, but his instincts tell him that something is wrong. He does not know if he can trust his instincts. He does not know if the thought in his mind is paranoia or a delusion. He could ignore it, tell himself to think rationally, to think with his head instead of his heart. 

Oikawa sits up, wrapped in a tangle of Iwaizumi’s arms.

“Where are you going?” Iwaizumi asks, voice groggy and rough with sleep.

“I heard the door next to ours open.”

“Don’t worry about it. They’re probably just taking a piss.”

Iwaizumi tosses an arm over Oikawa’s hips and tries to pull him back into bed. Oikawa is tempted to let him, to be held in his arms and drift into sleep, but the fear that something could be wrong and he did nothing to stop it outweighs everything else.

“Well, if they’re just taking a piss, then I’ll be back soon,” Oikawa says. He pries Iwaizumi’s arm off him and gets out of bed to put on his boots.

In the dim light of the room, Iwaizumi’s eyes track Oikawa’s movements.

“Don’t you trust me?” Oikawa asks. It’s a heavy question, so he keeps his tone light to hide the fact that he’s almost afraid of Iwaizumi’s answer.

Once, Oikawa was a man you could trust, a man you could depend on. Then, for months, he was a man that woke screaming, that dug his nails down his arms until his skin bleed, that shook in terror at an unexpected shadow. He had to be watched like a child. He fought and beat back his weakness as best he could and now, he is largely in control of his nightmares.

When Oikawa is at the door, Iwaizumi finally says, “I trust you.”

Feeling confident in his decision, Oikawa heads out into the hall and down the stairs. He does not see any of his friends sitting at the tables on the first floor so he goes outside. Wellspring is still bright with light despite the nearly empty streets. It hardly feels like night with so much light.

He thought it would be difficult to track whichever one of his friends left the room, but it only takes him a second. Hanamaki leans against the outside of the inn, his shoulders tight with tension and his bottom lip chewed raw.

They spot one another at the same time, both their heads turning.

“Tooru?” Hanamaki says, his eyebrows pushed together and his mouth just barely hanging open.

“Are you alright?” Oikawa asks, walking towards him. “I heard you leave your room.”

Hanamaki stares at him in disbelief, like he is seeing a figure of his imagination. He asks, “What if I was just taking a piss?”

“Doesn’t look like you’re taking a piss.”

“I just—” Hanamaki runs a hand through his hair. “I just had a nightmare, alright? I couldn't go back to sleep and got sick of staring at the ceiling and listening to Issei snore so I left.”

“How frequent are the nightmares?” Oikawa asks, compassion in his voice.

Hanamaki bites his bottom lip. Often, then, Oikawa thinks.

Someone passes by and Oikawa looks around. There are not many people out this time of night, but they are not alone either. Thinking Hanamaki would be more willing to talk in private, Oikawa makes his way down a small alley between the inn and the building next door, Hanamaki following without a word. Hanamaki is always more docile when he first wakes, when sleep is still heavy in his limbs and the sun has yet to shine in his eyes.

Oikawa leans against a wall, Hanamaki standing across from him. Hanamaki’s still tense, his mind lingering on whatever haunting nightmare woke him. Oikawa does not press the issue. He remains silent, watching Hanamaki for the right moment to speak but not outright staring. He will not force Hanamaki to talk if he does not want to, but he will be there should the moment come.

Hanamaki speaks sooner than Oikawa expected.

“I can’t get their faces out of my head,” Hanamaki says quietly, shaking his head slightly, as if he is unaware he is moving. “I let them freeze. I let them starve. I told them I would protect them, but I abandoned them when they needed me most.”

If you needed to find Hanamaki in Seijoh, all you had to do was ask the homeless children on the street. When Hanamaki first arrived, he gave them whatever they asked for, whether it be money or food. The children abused this kindness at first, but Hanamaki gave them whatever they asked for and more. As time passed, the children learned that Hanamaki would not abandon them and they only asked for what they needed. The children adored him and knew they could rely on him for protection.

Then, the demon came and cursed Hanamaki to do its bidding.

Oikawa does not say anything. Rationally, Hanamaki must know it was not his fault, that he was under a spell and there was nothing he could do. But emotions are irrational and no amount of logic can make them go away.

“How the fuck are you coping with this?” Hanamaki asks. His voice is both blunt and desperate, his shaking hands fisted at his side. “Because some days I feel like—I feel like I’m losing my damn mind.”

Oikawa thinks of how just minutes ago, he lay awake in a bed, unable to control the flow of his thoughts so he could rest. He thinks of how he sometimes flinches when Iwaizumi touches him unexpectedly. He thinks of how he jumps at shadows, and how time still slips through his fingers like sand in the morning, and how the smallest thing can trigger a nightmare in the light of day.

He wonders if he is coping, or simply better at hiding his pain. 

After a breath, Oikawa says, “I find things that ground me to the present, like counting my arrows—”

In Saltshore, Kindaichi came back from his apprenticeship at the blacksmith and gifted Oikawa a bundle of arrows from a local fletcher. When Oikawa asked why, Kindaichi said, “You’re always looking at your arrows.” The next time Oikawa felt the need to count his arrows, there were more to examine, differences in craftsmanship that captured his attention and gave him something to focus on. 

“—a food I’m tasting for the first time—”

Oikawa had red streaks hidden beneath the sleeves of his robe when he went shopping with Matsukawa. He had woken screaming and dragged his too-sharp nails down his arms until Iwaizumi awoke and wrapped his arms around him. The marks stung with more than pain, shame and self-loathing hot along their length. The feeling disappeared when Matsukawa handed him a sweet piece of melon.

“—the thumb ring Tobio gave me—”

He remembers every moment the demon was in his body, but his most vivid memory is of that final battle. Kageyama on his knees, choking, so close to death because of him. Whenever that memory roars it ugly head, Oikawa reaches down and touches the ring on his thumb. Then, the memory is replaced by Kageyama at the dock in Miyagi, alive with a long life ahead of him, happy despite all he had suffered because of Oikawa.

“—Hajime.”

On their journey to Wellspring, Iwaizumi laughed loudly when Oikawa failed to mount his camel, but came over to help him up. At night, when the desert was at its coldest, they curled around one another underneath a wool blanket. And when the oasis was finally in sight, Iwaizumi and he raced their camels down the final sand dune, Oikawa winning by a hair. 

Oikawa says, “Some days it helps more than others.”

Hanamaki stares at him, like he is searching for some deeper truth, some hidden meaning in Oikawa’s words, but there is none.

Some days, it’s easy to forget the things he did. Other days, it seems impossible. But Iwaizumi and the others sacrificed so much to carry him this far, and he will not let that go to waste, no matter how hard that may be.

“I don’t think I’m going to be going back to sleep tonight,” Hanamaki says after a moment of silence. “You should go back in and try to rest. Hajime will worry if you don’t.”

“Hajime knows why I left. If he’s worried, he can come find me.”

“You’re staying here, then?”

“As long you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t,” Hanamaki says in a quiet voice with a soft smile. All Oikawa hears is _thank you_.


	7. Gold

Mornings in Wellspring are cooler than mornings on the coast. In Saltshore and the Ivory Port, wind from the sea drifted through windows, smelling of salt and more faintly of sand. Here, there is no sea, only a long pool of endless fresh water, but the shade of the trees and the cool water act as shields against the sharp heat of the morning sun.

When Oikawa wakes, he collects his thoughts before opening his eyes. His thoughts are most erratic when he wakes, dreams still leaking into his consciousness and affecting his ability to determine the most basic of facts. With each passing day, his mind grows clearer, his dreams staying where they should.

_Wellspring, Inarizaki,_ he thinks instead of _Seijoh, Aobajousai_.

_Ishikawa, Kanda, Kirihara, Matsuura, Hidaka_ , he thinks instead of _Iwaizumi, Kindaichi, Kunimi, Matsukawa, Hanamaki_.

_Oshiro Tooru_ , he thinks instead of _Oikawa Tooru_.

_Human,_ he thinks instead of _demon._

He opens his eyes and sits slowly. Iwaizumi is nowhere to be found, his boots and sword gone. Matsukawa is there instead, sitting on a stool and turning a coin over in his hands. Oikawa watches silently, Matsukawa still unaware that he is awake. The coin flips easily between his fingers in one hand and clatters to the ground when he tries the trick on the other. Matsukawa scowls at the coin, his hand a tight first over his knee.

Oikawa asks, “Is it still time for breakfast, or did you let me sleep the day away?”

Matsukawa’s head snaps towards him. Then, he leans down to pick up the coin. When he rises, the shock on his face is gone. He says, “Isn’t breakfast just the first meal you eat?”

“Fair point.”

“Want me to go downstairs and order some food while you get dressed?” Matsukawa asks.

“I’m not particularly hungry,” Oikawa admits. “But if you need to eat, I don’t mind joining you.”

“We ate earlier. Get ready and then we can head out.”

Matsukawa does not ask if he is up to going out, which Oikawa is thankful for. He nods and Matsukawa leaves him to get ready for the day.

* * *

They have only been in Wellspring for a few days now and there is much they need to learn if they are going to stay here any longer. The more they know, the safer they will be. Iwaizumi and Kunimi are investigating the criminal network in town to see if word of King Oikawa Tooru’s escape has reached this far, while Kindaichi and Hanamaki talk to the townspeople about work and which merchants frequently travel here.

Meanwhile, Oikawa and Matsukawa are in charge of buying supplies and picking up what knowledge they can along the way. They leave the inn to head to the market on the other side of town. The inn they're staying in is on the more perilous side of town and the market on the other side is more reputable.

The people in the market look so different from Matsukawa and Oikawa, but no one turns their heads to look at them twice. The people of Inarizaki have darker skin than anyone Oikawa had ever seen previously. People in Aobajousai and the rest of the continent they left behind had fairer skin and straighter hair. Still, the people of Inarizaki are used to travelers, even in the desert inland. Wellspring and many of the other oases are stopping points for travelers looking to set off into the desert in search of ancient ruins. The rich and the desperate buy supplies and guides at oases to prepare for their foolish journeys.

As they walk, Oikawa trails slightly behind Matsukawa, who turns periodically to check if he is still there. It’s either an order from Iwaizumi, or something Matsukawa feels the need to do. Regardless, Oikawa dislikes this immensely and makes sure it shows on his face. Matsukawa shrugs every once in awhile, and though Oikawa dislikes being treated like a reckless child, he cannot say he blames Matsukawa.

The next time Matsukawa turns, there is a black shadow in the shape of a man behind him. It is not a black cloud in a thunderstorm, nor the black of night. It is an endless black through which no light escapes or reflects. It has no features, yet Oikawa feels as if it is looking at him, through him, deep into the core of his soul. Its fingers are sharp as knives, wrapped around Matsukawa’s throat. They press hard enough to indent, but they press tighter and soon they will slice into his flesh, pouring blood and life onto the sand beneath their feet.

Oikawa’s blood runs cold, chilling him down to the bone. When his mind first started to slip, he saw that figure in the corner of his eye. He saw it in the shadows, then in the sun, then in the reflection of his mirror. It drew closer and closer and closer until it resided underneath his skin. 

Now, he does not see the demon outside of his dreams. His mind is the last place it exists in this world. If he is seeing it when he is awake, is it growing stronger? Can it now escape his mind? Or has he gone mad once again and sees something that is not there?

The entire world is still, frozen in a block of ice, the only movement the tremor of his hands by his side and the dagger-like fingers slowly digging into Matsukawa’s neck. He wants to shout out for Matsukawa to run, but there is no air in his lungs, even his organs frozen in place behind his ribs. 

Then, another part of the world moves.

A man, radiantly bright as if he is made of gold, walks behind Matsukawa and through the demonic black figure. As the man passes through, the demon evaporates into the air like it was made of smoke, a specter instead of a solid being whose fingers were pressing into Matsukawa’s throat just moments ago.

The golden man does not stop as he passes through the demon, but he does look towards Oikawa over Matsukawa’s shoulder. He smiles and underneath the bright midday sun, his eyes glow gold and his dark skin shines like a well-polished gem.

“Tooru?” Matsukawa says and Oikawa does not think this is the first time he’s called out his name. Clearly, time only stilled for Oikawa. Everyone else around him moved as they should. 

“I’m fine,” Oikawa says, not sure if that is true or not. He shifts his eyes to Matsukawa then looks back towards where the golden man should be, but he sees no one. The golden man, if they ever existed at all, is gone.

Matsukawa looks at him like he’s a stranger he can’t understand. Oikawa knows he is not the same as he once was, but surely there must be some level, some part of him that is recognizable.

“Sorry,” Oikawa says, his entire focus on Matsukawa, who he knows is real, “I thought I saw someone.”

“Someone you know?” Matsukawa asks.

Oikawa shakes his head, but finds himself saying, “Yes.”

Matsukawa doesn’t understand. Neither does Oikawa.

“Let’s get something to drink,” Matsukawa says. “I think this heat is getting to us.”

* * *

They find a tavern selling spiced mead and buy two mugs along with a pitcher of fresh water and a plate of food to share, though Oikawa is still not hungry. Matsukawa flirts with the tavern maid that serves them and Oikawa quietly enjoys the familiarity of the scene. He would not have survived this long in this sunny desert kingdom if they did not have these moments that mirrored their home back in Aobajousai.

He stops himself from continuing that line of thought. Aobajousai is no longer their home and it will only hurt him further to think of it as such. He can never return there. Perhaps the others could, but not Oikawa.

“You gonna eat that?” Matsukawa asks, a mouthful of food tucked into his cheek.

Oikawa looks down at his plate, the food untouched. He shakes his head and pushes the plate towards Matsukawa. Even if he was hungry, his stomach feels sour and cold. The idea of food is entirely unpleasant.

“Seems like they’re looking for a guard,” Matsukawa says, as if he knew Oikawa was not listening to his conversation with the tavern maid. “They need someone to kick out the drunks and stop people from feeling up the girls that work here.”

“You used to do that kind of work a lot, didn’t you?” Oikawa asks. "Not just in Saltshore, but before."

Matsukawa shrugs. “I was too small to intimidate anyone when I first left home. Then I met Takahiro and we never stayed in one place long enough to get a proper job like that. We mostly helped on farms further south. We'd do some work in exchange for a meal and spending the night in a barn. When we became sellswords, that almost always paid enough to put food on the table and a roof over our head.”

“Have you thought of doing that here?” Oikawa asks. “Becoming a sellsword?”

Matsukawa takes a large gulp of mead, finishing off the mug, then fills it up with water. He only uses one hand to do all of this, but Oikawa keeps this observation to himself. It seems to be a sore subject and Oikawa does not want to bring any more pain to these people that left everything behind to be with him.

Oikawa was not there when Iwaizumi and Kageyama stormed Seijoh Castle. The capital had been left under the control of the Riders, who were cursed by the demon to follow its every order, while Oikawa wreaked havoc on Karasuno. Matsukawa has not talked about it, but Iwaizumi mentioned it once when Oikawa was still imprisoned beneath Miyagi. During the battle, Kageyama shot an arrow through Matsukawa’s hand, disrupting its tiny delicate bones and tendons, and Matsukawa still has not recovered full use of his hand.

“Thought about it,” Matsukawa says, seemingly unbothered by the tone of his voice, though the alcohol he just gulped down says otherwise.

“And?”

Matsukawa gives him a look. It doesn’t seem like his hand is the reason. It’s something else and there’s only one other thing it could be.

Oikawa sighs. “It has something to do with me, doesn’t it?”

Matsukawa ignores him. Oikawa kicks him gently in the shin. When Matsukawa still doesn’t say anything, Oikawa repeats the motion, slightly harder. Matsukawa looks at him and Oikawa gives him a practiced, innocent smile.

“Gods, you’re stubborn as ever,” Matsukawa mutters. He reaches over the table, grabs Oikawa’s untouched mug of mead and drains half of it in one enormous gulp. He says, “Sellswords typically have to travel a lot and Hajime doesn’t want us leaving you just yet.”

“Ah,” Oikawa says, his expression guarded despite Matsukawa’s petulant look, “ _stability_ , was it?”

Matsukawa looks at him. Oikawa wonders if he recalls that conversation from Saltshore. If he does, he’s probably trying to figure out how Oikawa overheard them.

“Yeah,” Matsukawa says, “something like that.”

Oikawa hums and drums his fingers against the table in thought.

“We want it, too, y’know,” Matsukawa says quietly. “We’re not completely selfless. Traveling is fine, but it’s nice to have somewhere to go back to when you’re done.”

Oikawa smiles, the emotion behind it earnest this time. The admission that they are not following him blindly eases some of his guilt. He gently taps Matsukawa’s shin again. Matsukawa’s sour expression softens and he smiles, too.

“I like this place more than Saltshore and the Ivory Port,” Matsukawa says. “I spent the first ten years of my life by the coast. Trust me, if you see one port town, you see ‘em all.”

“I think you just like the tavern maids here,” Oikawa counters.

“That too.” Matsukawa grins and raises the mug of mead he stole from Oikawa. After taking a sip, he crosses his arms on the table and looks at him. “What about you? Have you thought about it?”

“About what?” Oikawa asks, feigning ignorance in case he is misunderstanding.

“Becoming a sellsword, or a mercenary, or whatever you want to call it.”

“I have,” Oikawa says carefully. There is an unspoken _but_ following the admission.

But I don’t know if I want to spend my life fighting. (“It’s your choice,” they would say.)

But I don’t know if I’m strong enough. (“You are,” they would say.)

But I don’t know if you would follow me and fight by my side again. (“Until we break,” they would say.)

Matsukawa doesn’t press. The confessions may be unspoken, but Matsukawa seems to understand what’s on his mind. “As long as we go somewhere with pretty tavern maids, I’m good,” is all he says.

Oikawa smiles. He reaches across the table to reclaim his almost-empty mug of mead and says, “Give this back. It’s mine.”

Matsukawa grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started Stars Aligned, I didn't intend for "Until it Breaks" to be a big thing. It just sort of happened, but I'm glad it did. There's something very satisfying and emotional about typing those words again, and I can't quite explain it. 
> 
> I do have the rest of the fic written (last minute edits pending) so I'm hoping to update once a week, probably on Wednesdays. Thanks for all the support so far--I know I don't respond to every comment, but I really appreciate it, even if you're just quietly reading along and liking posts I make on twitter and such. I was really nervous about continuing on with this universe and am glad people enjoy where this story has taken Oikawa and the others.


	8. Dusk

The world is soft when Oikawa wakes. Gentle golden sun pours in through the shutters of the inn, shining through Iwaizumi’s hair and illuminating his face as he sleeps. He sleeps on his right side, the long scar on his left arm clearly visible. Iwaizumi was a knight, a warrior, and scars scatter his body to prove it, but Oikawa has always detested that ugly scar the most.

Carefully, like it might bite back, Oikawa runs his fingertips along the scar. It’s dented but smooth, shining in the golden morning sun, several shades lighter than the rest of his body.

“Do you know why I didn’t want them to remove your arm?” Oikawa asks because he knows Iwaizumi is awake now, has been since he first touched him.

Iwaizumi grunts. He does not open his eyes. He feels safe, even when he’s unarmed with Oikawa in his bed. He does not fear him, never has. He only ever feared for Oikawa and what would become of him.

Oikawa leans forward and kisses the end of the scar. When he leans back, Iwaizumi’s eyes are open, squinted against the morning sun.

“I asked you a question,” Oikawa says, voice light and teasing. “It’s rude not to answer.”

Iwaizumi smiles. _You sound like your old self_ , that smile seems to say.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Oikawa adds after a second.

“It doesn’t bother me. Not like I remember much once my fever started.” Iwaizumi pauses as if in thought, his lips pursed slightly in a way that Oikawa has always found adorable. “I thought it was because you were a prince and I was your knight, and if I was broken, it would reflect badly on you.”

They have never talked about this. They never talked about how when Iwaizumi and his knights’ expected arrival date came and went, Oikawa spent every single day waiting for Iwaizumi to come home from that mission. They never talked about why Oikawa refused to let the physician and Arc Mage amputate his arm. They never talked about how Iwaizumi screamed as they carved into the dead, rotten flesh of his arm and Oikawa held his hand, never once flinching.

Now, nearly a decade later, Oikawa leans over, kisses his scar again and lets his lips linger longer than before. He closes his eyes and drags his mouth up Iwaizumi’s arm to his shoulder, his collarbone, his neck.

“When they told me what had happened, I was struck with the realization that I loved you,” Oikawa says quietly. He remembers it now, the squire coming to tell him Iwaizumi and his men had returned, but that Iwaizumi was gravely injured. He imagined that the feeling in his chest was what like being struck by lightning felt like. “I thought that if you only had one arm, you might think that you couldn’t protect me and give your role to another. But I did not want another knight to watch over me. I wanted _you_ and I did not want you to have a reason to abandon me. Because of my youthful selfishness, you almost died.”

“But I didn’t. I’m still here. And you’re still here.” Iwaizumi’s left hand slides up Oikawa’s bare ribs to the center of his back and pushes him forward until their chests are flush against one another. Iwaizumi’s lips are at his hairline when he says, “Do you want to know when I realized I loved you?”

Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi’s heart beating rapidly, or perhaps it is his own. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell, as if the two are one in the same, always in sync.

“Do I get to guess first?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi laughs and brings up a hand to run it through Oikawa’s hair, cupping the back of his head and holding him close.

Oikawa says, “Actually, I’m too impatient. Just tell me.”

“When I was being knighted, you broke tradition. You had me open my eyes as you cleansed me with sacred water. Then, you took my hand and helped me to my feet. That’s when I knew I loved you, but I think I had loved you long before then.”

Both of Iwaizumi’s arms are around him now, moving him up the bed so they are face to face. Oikawa’s head blocks the sun and now, Iwaizumi’s eyes are fully open. Since he realized his feelings for this man, he has always loved his eyes. They’re the color of worn leather—rough, and warm, and handsome, and strong. 

Iwaizumi does not move, waiting for Oikawa, who leans forward to kiss him slowly. He does not try to count the times they’ve kissed since that demon left his body. He fears he will struggle to remember some, as he struggles to remember so much these days. Instead, he focuses on the present, on Iwaizumi’s lips, and the way he smiles, and the rough scratch of his morning stubble against Oikawa’s chin.

“I want you,” Oikawa murmurs. He slides a hand into Iwaizumi’s hair and turns his head, kissing him again at a better angle. “I want you so much, Hajime. Some days, I can hardly stand it.”

Iwaizumi curses, quiet as a breath. “Are you okay being underneath me?”

Oikawa hesitates, unsure, and that is all the answer Iwaizumi needs.

Iwaizumi’s hand slides down Oikawa’s spine before curving over to his waist, holding him tight. He rolls them so Iwaizumi is on his back with Oikawa half on top of him. Iwaizumi pulls and pushes at his body, his waist, his thigh, until Oikawa is sitting atop him.

Iwaizumi’s hands roam Oikawa’s body like he is a starving man in search of sustenance, or perhaps a man desperate to confirm this is real, that they are alive and whole and unbroken. How long has it been since they arrived in Wellspring? Since leaving Karasuno? Since he was possessed and shunned the man he loves? He cannot recall. Time is a blur. It could be days, weeks, months, years and he would not be able to tell the difference. It could have been a lifetime.

No matter the length of time, Iwaizumi waited for him. Oikawa does not want to make him wait any longer.

Oikawa tightens his hand in Iwaizumi’s hair, using the other to steady himself. He tilts Iwaizumi’s head back into the pillows and moves his mouth to his neck. He kisses down the length of his neck, more slowly than his desire wants him to. He wants to devour him and to be devoured in return, but it has been so long and he wants to remember this. He wants to make it worth the wait.

“You’ve got him right where you want him, don’t you?” a viscous voice whispers in his ear.

There is a weight behind him, as if there is another person kneeling on the bed. Snow-cold hands touch his back and slid around his ribs to come around and press at his belly. Oikawa goes still. He does not dare to look down between his body and Iwaizumi’s. He does not know what would be worse—seeing the hands, or seeing nothing at all.

“It’s a shame he escaped from that cell,” the voice says. “Remember all the things we were going to do with him when we got back from our conquest? Chain him up, then beat him and fuck him until he couldn’t stand. Make him bleed. Make him cry. Make him _beg_.”

Oikawa pushes himself up, his hands on either side of Iwaizumi’s head, but Iwaizumi does not seem to notice that something is wrong. His eyes are closed in complete trust. Blindly, he stretches out his neck and kisses Oikawa’s wrist so gently, so lovingly, and Oikawa wants to vomit.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

“I thought we could gag him, only let him open that mouth when we wanted to hear him beg or scream. Oh, but he had another use for that mouth, didn’t he? As skilled as a whore, he is. What was it you told him that day?”

No, Oikawa thinks. Not that.

“Ah, yes, I remember now! ‘You are nothing but a body with a sword to me. Keep your mouth shut unless I want it wrapped around my cock.’ The look on his face when you told him that was absolutely _beautiful_ , Tooru. Truly, it was some of our best work, but I think we could do so much better.”

The hands suddenly disappear from his stomach.

Oikawa dares to look down.

The hands may no longer touch him, but they have not disappeared entirely. Smoky pitch-black hands with pointed knives for fingers drag down Iwaizumi’s chest leaving ten parallel, bloody gouges in his skin. Rivets of blood curve down his ribs, soaking into the bedsheets below.

Oikawa dives for the edge of the bed as acid shoots up his throat. He gags on it and it goes up into his nose, spit and snot and bile mixing in his mouth as he vomits.

He feels Iwaizumi’s hand on his back. He says, “Tooru,” his voice laced with concern and fear. Fear that he caused this, that all of this is his fault, that he hurt Oikawa and not the other way around.

Oikawa gags harder. “Don’t— _fuck_ —don’t touch me!”

Iwaizumi’s hand pulls away like he’s been burned.

He gags again and again until there is nothing left to heave but fear and shame. Hastily, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns to look at Iwaizumi, to see how bad the damage is, but there are no marks on his chest. He turns his head the other way, looking further down the bed where he was certain someone else sat, but there is no one there.

He moves to get out of bed, letting out a slew of curses, and steps in his spit and vomit on his way to their bags. Iwaizumi is trailing behind him, but Oikawa cannot look at him. He grabs a long ochre-colored robe with golden suns sewn throughout. He does not grab his shoes, or his weapons, and does not even button up the robe.

In seconds, he is down the stairs and out of the inn, Iwaizumi screaming at his back. He runs until the burn in his throat is from exertion and not from stomach acid. He runs until the sand and stones soaked in the heat of the morning sun scorch his bare feet. He runs until the image of what he has done, of what he planned to do, is gone from his mind.

(But the image does not leave. He could never run enough for that to leave him.)

He does not stop until he cannot run anymore, coughing and threatening to throw up again. When he finally does stop to look around, he finds himself in a market on the other end of the oasis. There is dry salted fish and freshly butchered pork marinated in brown glaze. The piles of fruits and spices are almost as colorful as the canopy of tarps and fabrics stretched overhead to keep out the sun. There are those that pointedly do not look at him, and those that look and pretend they are not. A runaway servant, they probably whisper with their heads pressed close together.

He sees a gate on the far end of the market leading out of Wellspring and back into the desert. He debates running through that gate and disappearing along with the wind in the sand. They would be better off if he were gone, he thinks. Iwaizumi most of all. He could travel and see the world without fear of being hunted. He could find a new lover, one that can touch him without throwing up.

Through the crowd, in a patch of sunlight leaking through the fabric canopy, he sees the golden man once again. This time, the man is standing still, and Oikawa can get a better look at him. He has golden eyes and hair the color of the white sand on the shores, and his skin is kissed dark by the sun. He wears the same types of clothes as the other men in the market, but his seem impossibly bright to have been made by any earthly dye—ruby red and sapphire blue fabrics with delicate golden jewelry dangling from his neck.

The golden man points to something behind Oikawa, who quickly turns, half expecting the demon. Instead, he sees Kunimi approaching with his staff, his expression carefully neutral. Oikawa turns back around to see the man, but he’s gone, as is the ray of sun he stood in.

When he is several feet away, Kunimi dully asks, “Are you going to stab me?”

Oikawa stares at the space where the golden man had stood. He takes in a measured breath and turns to face Kunimi. He says, “I don’t have any weapons on me.”

Kunimi looks him over, raises an eyebrow when he sees his lack of shoes and unbuttoned top. “We don’t have to go back right now, but I need to let the others know you’re safe.”

Oikawa doesn’t know if he ever wants to go back. He nods anyways.

Kunimi tilts his head in a way that means _follow me_ , so that is what Oikawa does. Kunimi leads them through the market and all its twisting turns until they find a boy sitting on a barrel. The boy wears old clothes held together by mismatching patches and a clean red scarf around his head.

Kunimi reaches into his pocket, takes out a coin, and hands it to the boy.

“Find Hidaka. Tell him I found Oshiro and that we’ll be back later.”

He uses their new names, still foreign to Oikawa but familiar already to Kunimi. _Find Hanamaki_ , he said, _tell him I found Oikawa_.

The boy nods and runs off.

“You’ve already organized the street kids?” Oikawa asks.

“Takahiro did most of the work,” Kunimi says, shrugging like organizing the homeless children so quickly is an easy task. “He’s better with kids than I am. He just dragged me along so they know my face.”

Memories come rushing to the surface. Whenever Oikawa and Hanamaki were together in the streets of Seijoh, the children would always swarm them. They adored Hanamaki, the younger ones wanting him to come play some game and the older ones reporting on who was sick and what supplies they needed. Oikawa smells winter snow and cobblestone from the past, then the sharp scents of the market from the present.

His stomach rumbles loudly. He fights the conflicting need to eat and the nausea swirling in his belly.

Kunimi sighs. “Let’s get something to eat and find somewhere to sit. There’s too many people here.”

* * *

They buy more than they should—hard boiled eggs, skewers with roasted vegetables, bread, and fresh fruit—along with a pair of shoes for Oikawa because Kunimi does not know a spell that will stop his feet from burning on the hot desert ground. Then, they find a bar that is still cleaning up the vomit from last night’s patrons. Kunimi floats them with their magic, silently lifting them up onto the roof. No one sees them, or gives them any notice. 

The entire length of the oasis is visible from here. Kunimi eats quietly by his side, hungry too, probably woken by Iwaizumi shouting that they needed to find Oikawa. He wonders if maybe they should have given a more detailed message to reassure Iwaizumi and the others that Oikawa is okay. But they all know and trust Kunimi, and if Kunimi says they’ll be back later, then they’ll be back later.

Slowly, Oikawa’s nausea settles and he reaches for a piece of bread. Even the bread here is so different from that place he once called home. Here, the bread is thinner and is filled with herbs and spices. As the sun beats down on them, Kunimi hands him a headscarf to keep the sun off his neck and face. He does not think Kunimi would enjoy sitting silently under the beating sun all day, but Oikawa knows that he would do it for him.

“What,” Oikawa asks eventually, “was the worst thing you did as an assassin?”

Kunimi’s shoulders rise a fraction of an inch. He finishes chewing whatever was in his mouth, then says, “Don’t ask me that, Tooru, because you know I’ll tell you.”

There’s a quiet plea in his voice, one that Oikawa has only ever heard when he knelt over Kindaichi as he bled out in Oikawa’s tent. It’s one of pain and cruel understanding that the world is not kind. It’s being prepared for the pain of the world and being blindsided by it anyways.

“Okay,” Oikawa says quietly.

“You usually have more sense of mind than to ask me something like that. Was it that bad this time?”

“The worst.” Oikawa bites his lower lip, hard. The pain doesn’t make him feel better the way it has lately when he digs his nails into his hands and arms. He says, “I need to know that someone else did terrible things like me and it didn’t consume them. I need to know what to do to make it right.”

Kunimi reaches into the basket and picks up an orange. His fingers peel back the skin, steady but hurried. He eats one slice, then another. Oikawa watches Kunimi as he licks his fingers clean in a very un-Kunimi like way. Oikawa would apologize if he thought it would help, but words won’t remove the resurfaced memory from Kunimi’s mind.

Kunimi eats another three orange slices more slowly, then hands the remaining five still trapped in the peel to him.

It takes Oikawa longer to peel it than it had Kunimi. The orange is sweet, still a flavor he is unfamiliar with. Oranges grew in Nekoma, but were never shipped north to Aobajousai. Sometimes, the castle chefs would use shavings in deserts, or merchants would sell candied peels, but the whole fruit is so much sweeter than that hint of flavor.

Kunimi says, “You once told me that you didn’t think I enjoyed killing. You told me that you would make me a better person and show me that I could help people. Up until that point, I thought I only existed to kill or be killed. It was never a matter of like or dislike.”

“If this is a roundabout way of saying you forgive me for—”

“It’s not,” Kunimi says sharply, still not looking at him. “It’s not my place to forgive you, anyways.”

He used to be able to tell what Kunimi was thinking when no one else could. Kunimi was a variable to everyone but Oikawa, who saw him as a constant. Now, he struggles to tell what the man is thinking. He doesn’t know if it’s because Kunimi’s changed, or if he’s changed. Maybe they’ve both changed.

Oikawa asks, “Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that no matter what you do or where you go, your past will always follow you. We both did terrible, unspeakable things. We did them whether we liked them or not. But despite the terrible things I did, you gave me a chance to do good in the world. It’s a debt I owe you that I’ll never be able to repay.”

“It’s not something I want repaid,” Oikawa says.

Kunimi reaches for another piece of bread, ending the conversation there. 

Oikawa eats slowly, savoring the taste that will one day be so familiar he will have forgotten the time it was novel. He looks forward to that day, to the certainty of its existence. Time moves strangely some days, but it still moves forward and that is a small comfort. 

When he finishes the orange, he says, “Let’s go back.”

Kunimi finally looks at him. He nods.


	9. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this universe, mages speak in a different language to cast spells. You can hover over the text and see a rough translation. If you can't do this or forget to, don't worry, it doesn't affect the plot. It's only one word and you can probably guess what it means by what follows.

The snow tells Oikawa this is a dream.

He sits on the stone windowsill of his bedroom watching the snowfall instead of watching Kageyama. It’s hardly snow by Aobajousai’s standards, a light flurry that melts the moment it touches the ground instead of the thick, heavy blankets that come in winter. Still, watching the snow swirling down is more interesting than watching Kageyama sit at his table with a box of his old thumb rings and trying them on one after another. 

“Prince Oikawa,” Kageyama says a few moments later. “I think this one fits.”

Oikawa turns his head and sighs heavily when he sees that Kageyama is still sitting halfway across the room. He waves his hand and says, “Come here. I can’t see with you all the way over there.”

Kageyama hurries over and lifts his hand to show him the ring. Oikawa takes his hand and examines the black, shiny stone ring. There’s just the right amount of give and take, not too snug that it impairs his thumb’s movement, but not so loose it will fall off. The ring was an arbitrary gift from his older sister some years ago. “I thought of you,” she had told him. Oikawa used it for several months before he hit another growth spurt and it no longer fit. It’s a shame that all it can do now is collect dust.

“You can have that one,” Oikawa says, releasing his hand. Kageyama bows and thanks him. “There are bows in the armory you can use for now, but we’ll get my personal bowyer to make you your own. We’ll also need to stop by my armorer and the tailor to have you measured for armor and clothing. Let’s see, what else is there?”

Oikawa sighs. He should have let Iwaizumi do this like he had offered. When the four original Riders moved into the castle, all Oikawa did was arrange their rooms and Iwaizumi had handled the rest.

Kageyama reaches down and rubs the ring on his thumb, the feeling probably unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Most archers in Aobajousai use gloves to protect their fingers, but Oikawa never has. When he was seven, Oikawa received his first bow from his father. At the same time, he received an heirloom from his mother’s side of the family, an ivory thumb ring used by her grandfather. He has used thumb rings since and if he is going to teach Kageyama archery, Kageyama will do the same.

“Prince Oikawa, why do you fight?” Kageyama asks without prompting. “My parents are sellswords. They fight for money. But you’re a prince. You don’t need money.”

“Men in my family are expected to be warriors,” Oikawa says easily.

“But why fight at all? There’s no war going on.”

Oikawa looks back out the window. He has only known Kageyama for two days now, but he is already familiar with the weight of his ever-present gaze. It unsettles him in a way he cannot describe, like a beast approaching slowly from behind. The boy is a talented archer, but Oikawa will not lose to anyone, not to a boy or a beast.

Oikawa says, “Some fight for money. Others fight because they have something to prove. More still fight because they like to feel powerful. Unlike most, I don’t fight for myself. I fight for my people. I will one day rule this kingdom and I must be stronger than the people I rule. Otherwise, I will be of no use to them. A king that cannot protect and serve his people is a failure.”

“And the Riders?” Kageyama asks. “They fight to protect you, right?”

“They do. They protect me so that I may protect others.” Oikawa swings his legs and jumps off the windowsill. He walks towards the door, waving his hand for Kageyama to follow. He says, “Follow me and don’t lag behind. If you get lost, I won’t come back to find you.”

Kageyama follows.

* * *

The sand tells Oikawa he is awake. 

Even with that dream lingering on his mind, the decision is not one Oikawa makes lightly. He never thought he had much of a choice when he was a prince. He was going to rule Aobajousai and he could either fail or rise to the challenge. It hardly felt like a choice at all.

Now, he knows there are more choices than success or failure, he knows that life is not black and white, but he still feels as if there are only two options in front of him. He can sit by and do nothing, or he can fight. He can help. He can do good in the world.

He once again feels as if there is no choice at all, the only path forward vividly clear. 

He tells Iwaizumi first in private. He knows that Iwaizumi will follow him to the ends of earth—depending on how you saw it, Iwaizumi had already traveled there and back again for him—but he wants to give him the chance to process this. He is no longer Iwaizumi’s king. Their bond is not one of servitude, but of respect and love, and he wants Iwaizumi to make his own choice.

“Let’s do it,” Iwaizumi says immediately, like it isn’t a choice at all.

The next morning, crammed into a small room in the inn, he tells the others. They are all on the floor except for Kunimi, who sits cross legged on one of the two beds. They look as if they are awaiting orders and Oikawa does not know how to feel. What he is about to tell them is not an order. It is a request, one he does not know their answers to. His heart tells him one thing, while his brain tells another, the two at war.

His heart tells him these men will follow him forever, not out of duty or obligation, but because they believe he is someone worth following, a king without a crown. Meanwhile, his brain is fogged by ghosts of his past and they whisper that should they be foolish enough to follow him, their inevitable deaths will be his fault, another tally to add to his score. 

He looks to Iwaizumi, who looks back, and Oikawa feels strong for the first time in a long time. 

Oikawa turns to address the others. “When I told Hajime that I would follow him here, I knew it would mean giving up my name, my title, and my pride. I thought I could live a peaceful, normal life, but I cannot sit by and watch people around us suffer. If that means I pick up my bow again, I will do so gladly.”

There is no confusion. 

“You want to be a mercenary,” Hanamaki says, more a statement than a question.

Oikawa nods once. “I know you have also made plans to live peaceful, normal lives. And I know this is more than I deserve to ask of you, but I trust you all with my life and I believe that together, we are stronger than we are apart. I believe that we can help people here and do good with our lives.”

He looks at all of them and they all understand, Kunimi seeming to more than the others. 

He is but a shadow of his former self, but he is confident and calm when he talks to them. For a moment, he is not a shadow of Oikawa Tooru, but the genuine article in the flesh.

They do not hesitate.

“What do we need to do to make this happen?” Matsukawa asks.

Iwaizumi says, “To start, a base of operations. Tooru and I already discussed that we want to stay in Wellspring. The money Queen Michimiya gave us should be more than enough to buy a property in the more lawless side of town and still have enough leftover for a sizable savings. Things are cheaper over there and they could probably benefit from the presence of a mercenary group.”

“We’ll need a place to practice, right? Like a courtyard or something,” Kindaichi says. “And if we ever want to recruit people, we’d need somewhere big with lots of rooms and a good-sized kitchen.”

“A place for camels, too, if we ever want to leave Wellspring for jobs elsewhere,” Matsukawa adds. “Gods, we’re going to have to learn to navigate the damn desert, aren’t we? I am definitely not looking forward to that.”

“Focus on the task at hand, first,” Iwaizumi says, like he is once again their captain, falling back into the role so easily.

“There’s four buildings we could buy that fit that criteria,” Kunimi says. “Six if you’re all okay with blackmail.”

“You just know that off the top of your head?” Hanamaki asks, grinning good-naturedly.

Kunimi says, “It’s my job to know these things.”

Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa. “You still with us, Tooru?”

When Oikawa says, “Yes, I am,” he means it.

* * *

Throughout the rest of the week, they observe the properties on Kunimi’s list. While Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Kindaichi talk to the owners of the properties, the others work from further away. Matsukawa talks to the common people, while Kunimi talks to those that work in the small dark underworld of the town. Hanamaki asks his new network of informants, the street children he befriended, what they know of the properties.

The first three properties they tour are adequate. The buildings would serve their purpose, but there is nothing memorable about them, nothing unique to separate them from one another. They were buildings with walls and ceilings, but only that.

The final property they view is the infamous Blue Castle, the once-famous dance hall. It’s the largest building yet, longer than it is tall, with two long floors and a smaller third floor offset to the right almost like a tower. It has the same sun-washed clay walls as the rest of the buildings in Wellspring, but a blue-tiled roof that gives the building its name. It sits directly on the water, surrounded by lush green plants and leaning palm trees, with orange-flowered trumpet vines rising up the corners of the building.

The first room they walk into is large with a broken wooden stage with dusty curtains. Two women hardly dressed sit on its edge, waving with practiced coy smiles, though they stop when a man walks in. It’s the young owner, who greets them. Oikawa hardly listens to the pleasantries, leaving that to Iwaizumi, and instead looks around for signs of serious damage.

Iwaizumi asks, “Why are you selling this place?” and Oikawa focuses on the conversation again.

“My father recently passed away and I inherited this place from him,” the man says. “It used to be a famous dance hall. The dancers were known throughout the kingdom. Even royalty would come, if you believe my father.”

“What happened to change that?” Kindaichi asks.

The man sighs. “My father, well, he liked to drink and gamble. Collected quite a debt, which I’ve inherited along with this place. He kept selling dancer’s contracts to try and pay it off, but would just drink away all the money he got. Without any talented dancers, people stopped coming as often as they used to.”

Kindaichi looks over at the women on the stage, who are watching them closely.

“Oh, they don’t dance,” the man says, waving his hand dismissively. “The only girl left that can dance is Kimura, but she never gets the chance.”

“Why not?” Kindaichi asks.

“Well, because she’s my best seller,” the owner says with a shrug. “I’ve got nine women and one man for sale. Plenty of people come for the man, since you can be a bit rougher with him, but Kimura still makes me the most money.”

Kunimi had told them this place was a whorehouse, so it comes as no surprise.

“Are they indentured, or free workers?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Indentured. There are two others we have, also indentured. They cook and clean sheets and such.”

“Seems like they don’t do a very good job of cleaning,” Oikawa comments lightly, looking at the dust on the bar and the uneven planks of the wooden stage.

The man looks uncomfortable. “I only just recently gained ownership of this place. Honestly, I just want it sold so I can pay off my father’s debts. I’ve got a wife and we can’t have his debt following us. Plus, she isn’t too fond of owning whores.”

Oikawa’s eyes shift to the women on stage. “Then are you selling their contracts as well?”

The man’s eyes light up. “Yes, yes, of course! People may not come here to see the dancers, but they do come to buy the whores. They make decent money, just not enough to pay off my father’s debts.”

Oikawa hums in a non-committal way. “Can we see the rest of this place? All of the rooms, even the dirty ones and the ones that are probably hidden from the public to deter thieves.”

The man nods, eager to show them all Blue Castle has to offer.

Just as he had in the other buildings, Oikawa tries to imagine living here. He does not know if Wellspring will be a lifelong home, or a stepping stone to another town, maybe even another continent. For now, he feels comfortable imaging a few years in the future, but no further. He had once defined himself by the future—that he would one day be a king—and that had crumbled around him like ash and dust.

He imagines the rooms cleaner, with less dust and the rolled-up carpets spread out on the floors. He imagines the street children Hanamaki befriended in beds in the smaller rooms on the first floor, pillows under their heads and doors with locks to feel safe. He images stray cats in the windowsills because Kunimi fed them one too many times and followed him home. He imagines Matsukawa and Kindaichi sparing in the back yard, the grass better cared for and shorter than it is now. He imagines waking in the master bedroom on the third floor with Iwaizumi by his side.

He imagines a life here, a future, and he can see it clear as day.

* * *

The choice is unanimous and by the end of the week, they are the new owners of Blue Castle and the contracts of its twelve indentured servants. They exchange money and paper, and less than an hour later, Oikawa and the rest stand in front of the twelve indentured servants.

Each of the twelve servants look different from the one before, their skin and hair and eyes all textures and colors. They come from across Inarizaki, perhaps even other lands. He does not know their circumstances for entering their contracts. It does not matter why they agreed. The fact that their contracts exist at all is immoral. Nothing in this world, not human or demon, should control another living being. 

When they first arrived in Inarizaki, he was in constant battle with his body and mind. There are still skirmishes and he does not think the war inside his mind will ever end, but now he stands in a property he owns, his devoted friends behind him and his friend, his lover, his partner by his side. He did not know what life would bring when they first arrived in Inarizaki, but he is thankful it brought them here to this place, to these strangers. 

“My name is Oshiro Tooru,” Oikawa says. “My friends and I are the new owners of Blue Castle and your contracts.”

Their neutral expressions hide venom in their eyes. Snakes kept too long, bound and forced, waiting for their chance to be free. People that have endured abuse and have been handed from person to person like livestock. People that have done things they’re not proud of. People that have no control. Looking at them, he feels like he is looking in a mirror.

He inhales and struggles to exhale.

Then, Iwaizumi steps forward to stand next to him. Oikawa breathes.

Iwaizumi says, “My name is Ishikawa. We have no desire to run a brothel, or to own other humans. From this day forward, Blue Castle will be the base of our new mercenary operation.”

Oikawa continues without pause, “We wanted to spend our lives in peace, but we cannot sit by idly and watch people suffer. If that means we must take up our weapons once more, we will do so.”

Oikawa looks over his shoulder at the others. Matsukawa and Hanamaki have a sort of pride in their eyes, not for themselves, but for Oikawa. Kindaichi has determination in his, the type of person that does not want to fight but fights anyways for those that cannot. Then there is Kunimi, who he once again understands.

Oikawa turns back towards the people in front of him and holds out a stack of papers. From their eyes alone, he can tell they know what he is holding—their contracts, their lives and dignity and rights signed away on a scrap of a paper. 

“Akira,” Oikawa says without looking back, an order.

Kunimi points his staff towards the papers and casts a spell. “Beswæle.”

Fire sparks on the corner of the paper, creeping its way up towards Oikawa’s hand as it burns. He holds the papers as long as he can manage, not letting the heat or pain show on his face. He drops the burning papers when he can stand it no more, then stomps the smoldering embers until there is nothing left but ash. 

Oikawa says, “If you would like to work for us, you may, but we will not be selling pleasure or flesh. You can cook and clean, or do odd jobs that come in, or we can teach you to fight. We will pay you well for your efforts, no matter what they are. If you wish to leave to pursue other opportunities, you may stay here for free until you have secured other employment. And if you need help finding your way home, wherever that may be, we will help you get there.”

“This is a choice, one you are free to make,” Iwaizumi says, a firmness to his voice, the same he used to command the Riders and the knights under him. “You belong to no one. Whatever you decide, you won’t be punished. This is your choice and yours alone.”

There is silence, a mix of hesitation and pure disbelief.

Then, one woman steps forward. Shoulders back and chin high, she returns Oikawa’s gaze. Her curly black hair reaches her shoulders, her neck and wrists adorned with cheap golden jewelry. She wears a peach colored dress that matches the warm undertones of her dark skin, which he can see plenty of. Her dress does not clothe her so much as decorate her, every inch of her skin still visible through the sheer fabric.

She is beautiful, even with her bulky broken nose and the purple bruise around her eye peeking out from under her makeup. She is also young, though Oikawa can’t tell how young, and that bothers him immensely.

“I will learn to fight,” she says with certainty. “But I will not call you, or any other man, ‘master’ ever again.”

“What’s your name?” Oikawa asks her.

“Kimura.”

“Well, Kimura, I can promise you that no man here will ask you to call them master. And if anyone tries, we’ll make sure they pay dearly for it.”

“Damn straight,” Hanamaki says, smiling.

She smiles, too, and there is a sharpness to it that Oikawa admires. Oikawa has the feeling she can already fight, even if it is not with iron and steel, but that is a discussion for another time.

“My name is Watari,” a man says, or perhaps he’s a boy, somewhere in between. He’s likely the same age as Kageyama, who Oikawa still struggles to think of as a man. The shadow of his youth had been chasing him in the softness of his cheeks the last Oikawa saw him. “I mostly cooked and cleaned here. I can do that or anything else that needs doing!”

The rest state their intent to leave, saying they want out of this town, a fresh start as free men and women. If their barely-there dresses and bruised bodies are any indication of their previous jobs, Oikawa does not blame them for wanting a normal, easy life.

Then, there is only one left that has not spoken, a man with fair skin, honey hair, and brown eyes. He is draped in sheer blue fabric, his bruises and scars more prominent than any of the women’s. He is the only male prostitute and he’s probably treated rougher for it. 

“And you?” Iwaizumi asks, looking at the man, who has remained silent this whole time. When he doesn’t get a response, he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Yahaba,” the man says begrudgingly.

“And what do you want, Yahaba?” Oikawa asks.

Yahaba’s eyes burn with fury. “I want to learn to fight. I want to make people that do this kind of thing pay. I don’t want anyone else to suffer like we have.”

Oikawa says, “We can certainly help with that.”


	10. Andel

For months, when Oikawa woke, it was with a jolt and a startled breath. Now, he wakes slowly in a large bed with the lingering warmth of Iwaizumi’s body, and he knows exactly where he is. It is not the fire-warmed stone room he grew up in. It is not on the pelts in a tent while winter winds roar outside. It is not on a pile of straw in a damp jail cell depth beneath Miyagi Castle where he awaits his death.

He wakes in a room on the third floor that rests on the back of Blue Castle, its many windows and large open balcony facing east towards the water of the oasis and the lush green of the yard out back. The color of the room depends on the time of day and how the light catches on the many rugs, blankets, and pillows strewn about. Oikawa has yet to learn all the colors of this room, but he will one day and that brings him great comfort.

He hears a clink of metal and finally opens his eyes. The red curtains are drawn shut, but the rising sun still finds a way to shine through, making the room the color of a ripening apple. Iwaizumi is clean-shaven and already dressed near their modest rack of weapons, tying his leather scabbard with his sword around his waist.

“You’re going to leave without kissing me?” Oikawa asks as he sits up.

Iwaizumi makes sure his sword is secure, then crosses their room to lean down and kiss him on the cheek. When he moves away, Oikawa puts a hand on the back of his neck and drags him back down, kissing him firmly on the mouth. Iwaizumi groans against his lips.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Iwaizumi murmurs.

Oikawa smiles. He asks, “So, who are you training today?”

He releases his hold on Iwaizumi, who goes to get his boots. He sits on the edge of the bed near Oikawa’s feet to pull them on. As Iwaizumi moves about, he says, “Yahaba, mostly, but I’m sparring with Issei at some point. He’s still not used to fighting with just one hand and I think he’s starting to get frustrated. I want to let him work through it by himself, but if it doesn’t start to get better soon, we’ll have to figure out what to do.”

Oikawa nods, already thinking of how they could overcome this hurdle together. “And the others? What are they doing today?”

“Akira is teaching Kimura how to use daggers. When they’re done practicing, he’s going to dig around and see if he can find an easy job for us to get our name out in the town. Yuutarou’s going to try to make connections with a local blacksmith and some tailors since we’ll probably need both regularly. And I think Watari’s going to clean out some of those back rooms on the first floor that haven’t been used in years.”

Iwaizumi stands, double checks the sword on his waist, and then looks at Oikawa.

“Do you need anything before I go?” he asks.

Oikawa hums. “Another kiss?”

"The death of me," Iwaizumi says tenderly, like death would be worth one more kiss. He cups Oikawa by the back of the head and kisses him with the same gentle tenderness that makes Oikawa's fingers curl into the fabric of the sheets and Iwaizumi's ribs. 

When Iwaizumi is gone, Oikawa looks around the room. He looks at the peacock quill on the wooden desk, the potted plants, the dangling pieces of colored glass, and the ornate metal lanterns on every surface. In another place, in another time, he would have thought a room like this was cluttered and dirty, but now he wonders what else they can cram into the empty corners of this room he shares with the man he loves.

He is alone in this sublime room, no one there but him, yet he hears a voice say, “Now that the dog is gone, shall we talk about our plans?”

Oikawa’s stomach turns sour and the back of his neck grows cold. He does not dare turn to look at the other side of the bed where he heard the voice. He does not want to taint the memory of Iwaizumi lying next to him with the sight of a shadowy figure.

He stands, shaky on his feet, and goes to the chest of drawers to pick out his clothes for the day. He does not look in the large brass mirror that sits atop the dresser, fearful of what he may or may not see.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” the demon says gleefully from the bed. “I’m in your head. I’m a part of you now, Tooru.”

Oikawa slams the wooden drawer shut. He braces himself against the dresser, hands white knuckled against its edges.

“You’re not here,” Oikawa says. He closes his eyes. “You’re not real.”

“As long as you are alive, so am I.”

“No. You’re gone. The White Mage banished you.”

“Then how,” the demon says, its voice growing louder, closer, “am I still talking to you?”

He feels a hand on his shoulder. He spins, fists raised, but a hand grabs his fist before he can slam it into the demon’s face.

Panting, Oikawa stares at Hanamaki in confusion. He looks at where Hanamaki has caught his fist, then towards the empty bed, and then back to Hanamaki.

“Hajime told me you were awake,” Hanamaki says. He releases Oikawa’s hand and Oikawa slowly lowers his arm. “He said you were in a good mood.”

Hanamaki frowns like he doubts this. Oikawa forces himself to meet his eyes, to not let this ruin the good mood the morning had promised. 

Hanamaki asks, “Are you still up to going out today? It can wait. Or, you can just tell me what you want and I can buy it for you.”

There is no judgement in his voice, only pity, and Oikawa almost wishes it was judgement instead. Judgement he has handled his entire life. Pity is something that he is still not used to.

“I’m okay,” Oikawa says with a smile.

Hanamaki nods, but Oikawa doesn’t think he fully believes him.

* * *

Oikawa and Hanamaki find Watari in the kitchen and eat breakfast, putting a few extra oranges and slices of bread in their baskets before heading out for the day. They may have only been in Wellspring for a short time compared to its other residents, but even they know not to shop at the market near Blue Castle. Instead, they make their way to the larger market to the south end of the oasis where their pockets are safer and the wares are of a higher quality.

One day, Oikawa would like for the market and other businesses around Blue Castle to flourish, but that cannot happen without protection from criminals. If they can establish a strong, respected mercenary group that people come to when they are in trouble, they can change things. Oikawa knows such a feat would take time, but they have the time to see it through.

For now, they browse the market in search of clothes and other goods for their new home. When they stayed in the Ivory Port, they feared they would be discovered and left quickly. In Saltshore, they were not sure where they would go next and what the future would hold. They bought only what they needed and could carry. Now, they have permanent residence in Wellspring and they can finally settle down. 

Oikawa was raised in a life of luxury. When he agreed to come to this kingdom, he knew what he was giving up. He never once complained, but he missed the small things he had taken for granted all his life, like a good pillow, a beautiful warm blanket, and a hot bath. They purchase high quality soaps for the bath on the first floor, and plush pillows for their rooms, and yellow-tinged candles that smell of citrus.

As Hanamaki peruses a selection of a selection of head scarves, Oikawa wanders from stall to stall until something catches his eye. He has never been one for jewelry, but he stops to look at the wares on the old man’s table. Some are plated with gold passed as real, the price far too exuberant for the material, while other is the genuine article, the high price more reasonable.

Metal grew cold in the harsh winter of Seijoh and would bite at the skin beneath it. Wooden jewelry never appealed much to the royal family, so they had little jewelry besides crowns and necklaces for the women. He always wore a thumb ring, though he did not consider that jewelry. It was not for decoration. It was a tool that served a function.

He absentmindedly rubs his thumb as he looks over the jewelry for sale, his thumb naked without a ring as he had taken a sword instead of a bow out today. His eyes settle on a gold-plated cuff meant to be worn on the wrist.

He picks it up to look at it closer, studying the mark of the sun god, Andel, that is pressed into it—a simple circle with straight lines of varying lengths to represent the sun and its rays, with an open eye inside the circle of the sun to represent Andel’s protection.

“Looking for a gift, or for yourself?” the merchant asks. He is an old man, his skin thick like leather with many folds. “Perhaps for a lover? Hmm?”

He thinks of Iwaizumi, but cannot picture him with a golden cuff. “No one in particular, I suppose…”

Oikawa knows he should turn the cuff over, inspect all aspects of it for dents or nicks, but he cannot look away from the eye inside the sun. He feels as if something alive is staring back at him.

“Are you seeking Andel’s blessing?” a man asks from behind him.

He has heard that voice once before. _Find me in the sands_ , that voice had said, though Oikawa never knew who or what he was searching for.

Now, he knows who that voice belongs to. It is an instinct. It is a fact, a universal truth. He knows who stands behind him without needing to look and it is not the demon that haunts him.

“We all seek Andel’s blessing,” the merchant says.

The golden man steps next to Oikawa and looks at the cuff in his hands. He says, “A truly stunning piece of work, if I do say so myself, but material objects are so easy to lose. Have you perhaps thought of a more permanent blessing?”

Oikawa does not understand.

The golden man plucks the bracelet from Oikawa’s hands, sets it back onto the stall, and then hands the man a coin. “Payment for your time,” he says kindly.

The man bows his head in thanks.

Then, the golden man turns without asking Oikawa to follow, but Oikawa follows anyway. He does not walk beside the man, trailing behind him. He thinks that someone could follow that man into the depths of the desert without question, but Oikawa is not that type of man. He is free and will not let anything control him again.

“Who are you?” Oikawa asks. “Why do I keep running into you? Are you following me?”

“I am not following you. Rather, you found me. Perhaps it is fate that we met, if you believe in such a thing.”

Suddenly, Hanamaki’s hand wraps around his wrist, dragging Oikawa to a stop. The moment it does, the man in front of him stops as well. He does not turn to see Oikawa and Hanamaki.

“Where are you going?” Hanamaki asks.

Oikawa gently removes Hanamaki’s fingers from his wrist. “I’m fine. I just need to do something.”

Hanamaki looks around Oikawa and his eyebrows press together in confusion. Lowly, he asks, “Who is that guy?” From his tone, Oikawa has no doubt that if he said that man is dangerous, Hanamaki would run the golden man through with his lance without hesitation. 

“I’m not in any danger,” Oikawa says calmly and honestly. “Go back to Blue Castle without me. I’ll be back later.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you to be on your own, but you’ve been a little, y’know, lately.” Hanamaki tilts his head for a moment, his meaning clear as day.

Oikawa’s eyes flick to the side where he sees a young girl. She does not look at them right then, but he knows she is watching them. She is watching everyone, listening without being noticed. Her clothes are ratty and old except for a red piece of fabric tied around her wrist. It’s the brilliant red that identifies the street children Hanamaki befriended. 

Oikawa says, “If I don’t return in two hours, send out your flock of little birds to find me.”

“I don’t like this, Tooru.”

“Trust me, I’m not going to run away anymore. I have too much to do in this place to run away.”

Hanamaki slowly inhales and exhales, thinking it through. He says, “Alright. But if Hajime yells at me, I expect you to come to my defense. He’s scary when he yells.”

“Thank you.”

He hands Hanamaki his baskets. Hanamaki takes one last look at the golden man and then leaves. When Oikawa turns back around, he finds that the golden man has not moved an inch, his back still to Oikawa.

He begins to walk again without being prompted. Oikawa follows.

The man walks him through Wellspring to the edge of the oasis where the city stops and the green takes over, grass up to their knees and a thicket of palm trees that should stop the sun’s rays but does not. In the middle of it all is a large tent the color of the sky.

The man enters the tent and the curtains fall shut behind him. Oikawa hesitates before following him inside. He has the feeling he should not enter, yet feels compelled to anyways. He does not feel the same push and pull of his limbs he felt when possessed. It’s something else that draws him inside and it is more than his own curiosity.

The curtains have only been closed for a second before Oikawa parts them, but inside, the man is already on the far side of the tent. The tent is a prism of colors—soft rugs with tassels, jewel-toned pillows made of silk and velvet, and a single lantern encased in punched-through metal that cast circles of yellow light onto the walls. There is a long red velvet chair low to the ground, but the man sits on the floor in front of it on a pillow. 

The man silently gestures for Oikawa to sit across from him. Oikawa steps into the tent, the heavy curtains closing shut behind him, and sits on a pillow across from the man.

“Why did you bring me here?” Oikawa asks.

“The flow of time is always cruel,” the man says, as if this is an answer to his questions, “but it has been particularly cruel to you. You suffered much and will suffer more still.”

“Why am I here?” Oikawa asks with more force.

“I would like to help ease that suffering, if you would let me.”

“What do you know of my suffering?”

“I know more than you think, Oikawa Tooru.”

Oikawa does not feel any ill intent coming from the man, but hearing that name after so long terrifies him. He asks, “How do you know that name? Who told you who I am?” with such ferocity that he spits. 

“No one told me anything. As I said, I simply wish to ease your suffering.”

“What could you possibly do to ease my suffering?” Oikawa asks. He wonders if he sounds half as desperate as he feels. The feelings he has refused to acknowledge, to share with his friends and lover, come pouring out like heavy rain after a drought. “I still see it in the shadows. I hear it whispering to me. I remember everything it did when it was inside of me and everything it planned to do. It’s gone from everywhere but my mind and I fear it will use me to find a way to crawl its way back into this world. I would rather die than let that happen.”

“And do you?”

“Do I what?” Oikawa asks, startled by the question.

“Want to die?” the man replies with an eerie calm.

Oikawa’s eyes are hard as steel. There is no hesitation, no doubt, when he says, “No.”

The man reaches to the side and picks up a small wooden chest. He sets it in front of him and spins it so that when he opens it, Oikawa can see its contents. Inside is a vial of black ink and a long piece of wood with a perpendicular needle at one end.

“The practice of tattooing is unheard of where you are from, but it is quite common here in Inarizaki,” the man says. He picks up the bottle of ink, the black liquid shimmering. “Most gods try to avoid meddling in the lives of humans and truthfully, not all of those who bear Andel’s mark are blessed by him. However, Andel does watch those he deems worthy. I believe that, should you choose to bear his mark, he will watch over you.”

“How can you be certain?” Oikawa asks. “My body was desecrated by a demon. Why would he watch over me?”

He does not receive any answer. The man stares at him, his golden eyes unwavering, waiting for Oikawa like all the others. Like Matsukawa, like Hanamaki, like Kindaichi, like Kunimi, like Iwaizumi, the golden man waits. 

Oikawa’s hand rises slowly and presses against his chest where his sternum ends and the scar on his abdomen begins. It’s the scar from being stabbed by a sword blessed by the gods to drive the demon from his body. The scar seems so ordinary for the purpose of the wound. Iwaizumi is unable to look at it, as is Oikawa.

“Here,” he says. “Can you do it here?”

The man nods.

Oikawa removes his shirt and lies on his back in front of the golden man, who prepares his tools. Instead of watching the man prepare, he stares up at the lantern hanging from the wooden supports. He blinks past the blinding light and realizes it is not a fire inside, but what appears to be a small sun. He closes his eyes, the sight too bright to bear.

“I’m going to begin now,” the man says and that is all the warning Oikawa gets.

The man taps the needle into Oikawa’s skin, cutting into his flesh and depositing the black ink deep beneath the surface. It’s sharp like the prickly leaves of a holly bush. He feels the shape as the man works—the circle of the sun and its straight outward rays, then the curve of the open eye inside. The man avoids his scar, placing the tattoo slightly higher over his sternum.

When the man is done, Oikawa rests his hand over the ink on his chest. It’s warm like the sun. Sometimes, when he prayed by the sacred pond in the forest behind Seijoh Castle, he would hear the crunch of snow behind him and feel a caribou’s breath on his neck. The sun-like warmth of the tattoo feels the same as that breath. It is a feeling of something beyond his comprehension. Though it is something unknown to him, he does not fear it. He accepts it and finds comfort in its existence.

While the man puts away his tools, Oikawa dresses, feeling dazed. He has the feeling he should not stay in this tent any longer, or it may be hard to find his way back to Iwaizumi and the others. 

“Who are you?” Oikawa asks again, turning to see his face one last time. He somehow knows this will be the last time he sees the golden man.

“I think you already know.”

Oikawa breathes in and out, slow and measured, his emotions swelling inside him like the sea. He puts his hand to his chest and even through the fabric of his shirt, he can feel the tattoo’s warmth and power.

“Thank you,” Oikawa says, bowing his head. “I will live a life worthy of this mark.”

Andel smiles. "I know you will. I would not have given it to you otherwise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there's only one chapter left, I'm going to update again on Friday instead of waiting for next week. 
> 
> The name Andel comes from one of the Old English words for sun, "friþcandel." I wanted the name to come from Old English since that's the language mages and gods speak in this universe.


	11. Time II

Time, Oikawa finds, moves strangely after you’ve been possessed by a demon, but that feeling doesn’t last forever. 

He remembers the first time Kimura, Yahaba, and Watari saw him fight. Oikawa said, “Hajime, spar with me after breakfast.” While everyone else stopped eating, Iwaizumi didn’t pause, just asked, “Sword or bow?” and shoveled more food into his mouth. Oikawa said, “Sword,” and not thirty minutes later he was on his back in the grass having lost gloriously. Iwaizumi held out his hand and Oikawa took it, laughing until they readied for another round.

He remembers celebrating their first successful job as the Blue Castle Mercenaries. It had been any easy job taking care of thugs that refused to pay their tab at a local inn, but it was a job well done and Watari cooked a feast to celebrate. They end every job after the same way, with food and wine and laughter. At first, Watari worried when they left for a job, wondering if they'd come back, unsure in the skill of Oikawa and his men. Over time that worry dissipated, but Oikawa hopes it never disappears. It is a dangerous line of work and they can never become complacent, as Oikawa knows how easily a man can die.

He remembers the first time he used Kageyama’s thumb ring to shoot his bow. It took him longer to find the nerve to pick up a bow than it did to pick up a sword. Then, one day, before the sun had fully risen and his courage had gone, he went into the backyard and emptied a full quiver into a target. He thought he was alone, but Yahaba saw him and asked that he teach him. Oikawa thought of Kageyama, and how he had failed him, and was determined to not fail again.

He remembers the first morning he woke up from a pleasant dream, Iwaizumi asleep at his side, one of his hands resting on Oikawa’s chest over the tattoo. It was the first morning he woke up and felt truly, completely safe. Now, every morning he wakes in Blue Castle feels the same.

This particular morning, he wakes before Iwaizumi and carefully detangles their limbs so as to not wake him. In only his thin sleep pants, he walks out onto their balcony that overlooks the water of the oasis and grassy backyard. He leans against the simple balcony rail, basking in the warmth of the morning sun, only a few hours high. 

Down below, beside the fence that runs along the outer edge of the property, Kindaichi and Watari are planting the young orange trees an old widower gave them for helping rebuild the fence for her goats. Off to the side, Kimura is wielding dual daggers and moving through a series of motions like a dance while Kunimi watches, his face unreadable to everyone but Oikawa, who can tell he’s impressed by her fast growth. He can hear Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s laughter drifting out an open window, along with the scent of whatever Watari cooked for breakfast.

Later today, Oikawa will go into town with Kindaichi and Yahaba to talk to a merchant caravan that is having some troubles with bandits in the desert. Hanamaki’s child informants told them that the merchants are thinking of cutting Wellspring from their trade route to avoid the trouble. Oikawa is going to offer their services at a discounted price to ensure their safety when they travel to Wellspring and to get in the good graces of merchants that can spread the name of the Blue Castle Mercenaries to other future employers.

For now, Iwaizumi approaches, his footsteps purposefully audible even though Oikawa has not been startled in months. Oikawa closes his eyes as Iwaizumi’s arms slide around his waist, his hands settling on his stomach. He leans back against Iwaizumi’s chest, as broad and sturdy as ever.

“You should have woken me up,” Iwaizumi says before he kisses his neck briefly. Oikawa rests his hands over Iwaizumi’s, their fingers loosely tangling. “We could have stayed in bed.”

Oikawa shivers despite the desert heat. He rubs his thumb along the back of Iwaizumi’s hand and says, “We can always go back to bed.”

“But I smelled Watari’s food and now I’m hungry.”

“Then why even mention it?”

Iwaizumi kisses his neck again, his lips lingering long enough for Oikawa to feel his grin. He says, “To tease you,” and then kisses higher on his neck.

“You’re a horrible, horrible man, Ishikawa Hajime.”

The full name, even after all the time he has used it, remains unfamiliar. He suspects it always will, to an extent. Yet the man that bears that name is as familiar as his own skin.

Iwaizumi hums, unbothered by the false insult. He kisses the bottom edge of Oikawa’s jaw then spins Oikawa in his arms to kiss him properly. As they kiss, Iwaizumi presses Oikawa back up against the edge of the railing and Oikawa groans, the idea of returning to bed suddenly very pleasant. He wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, content to let Iwaizumi do to him as he pleases, whether that be out here on the balcony or in their bedroom.

At first, both the idea of holding Iwaizumi and being held by him terrified him. Each thought brought back a different set of memories, neither of them pleasant. Even now, as the thought briefly passes through his mind, the memories float into his consciousness.

“You’re tense,” Iwaizumi murmurs. “Stop thinking so much.”

Oikawa focuses on Iwaizumi’s hands on his body, holding him steady, grounding him to this place, to this time. Iwaizumi kisses his temple, his nose pressing into the curls of Oikawa’s hair before he moves back down to kiss his lips. Each move is deliberate and slow, intended to be predictable so it does not startle him.

But he is not afraid. Those days are long gone and Oikawa will not let the past ruin today, or any other day that has yet to come. Since he took on Andel’s blessing, he has not seen the demon. He will never forget the horror and pain he caused, and he does not know if the nightmares will ever disappear entirely, but the world and his mind are free from the demon. Now, that thing is nothing but a vestige of his past, no threat to him or the world.

Iwaizumi kisses him again and again, and time moves forward.

“We can see you!” Hanamaki calls from down below.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi break apart and look down into the yard. Hanamaki has his lance and is trailed by Matsukawa, who carries a one-handed axe he is becoming more skilled and more comfortable with. It does not boast the same power or presence as the massive battle axe he used before his injury, but his confidence with the weapon is reassuring to all of them.

“Yeah!” Matsuakwa says, grinning so wide, Oikawa can see it from the balcony. “Stop being gross, you dirty old men.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

Oikawa shouts back, “You’re older than us!”

“But I’m not gross,” Matsukawa says, like this is a good argument.

“Do I need to recount the time you—” Oikawa begins, but Iwaizumi puts a hand over his mouth. Oikawa turns his head and glares at him, but Iwaizumi does not move his hand.

“Do you want me to shave your face for you?” Iwaizumi asks, like only they exist, the others already forgotten.

Oikawa feels his glare soften. He thinks of Iwaizumi’s hands on him, his neck exposed in true trust, and the gentle trace of Iwaizumi’s fingers along smooth skin. He thinks of all the things they could do after in the privacy of their room. He nods.

Iwaizumi removes his hand, replacing it with his mouth and kissing him one more time before heading back into their bedroom. He says, “I’ll shout when I’m ready.”

Oikawa turns back around, leans against the railing, and watches his friends below. Matsukawa and Hanamaki have begun to spar, Kunimi is correcting Kimura’s form, and Watari and Kindaichi have finished planting the orange trees that will one day bear familiar fruit.

As he waits for Iwaizumi to call him back into their room, he places a hand against the blessed tattoo on his chest, and he breathes easily and freely.

What he went through should have broken him. It certainly would have broken any other man.

But time moves forward and Oikawa stands, unbroken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“If I could face them_  
>  _If I could make amends with all my shadows_  
>  _I'd bow my head and welcome them"_  
>    
> _I of the Storm — Of Monsters and Men_  
>    
>    
> Now that this fic is over, I have to thank [possibledreamswriting](http://possibledreamswriting.tumblr.com/)/[vanz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vangie/pseuds/vanz), who helped me with Stars Aligned, too. The second she found out about this sequel, she looked over some chapters and began cheering me on. She is so creative and always gives me the best feedback to help me work out the rough parts in my drafts.
> 
> But most of all, I have to thank [zelda_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelda_writes/works). I never quite got over my love of this universe. No matter what I wrote, it was always in the back of my mind especially when I was going through a tough time in life. I always knew what happened after the end of Stars Aligned, but it's thanks to her encouragement that I finally decided to write it and share it--without her support, I never would have written this. She read over pretty much every chapter for me and helped me with the plot, dialogue, and descriptions (so, basically, everything).
> 
> And if you're reading this now, thank you for the support, especially if you left a kudos or a comment along the way. The fact that people finished Stars Aligned still amazes me. The fact that people would read a sequel nearly a year after I posted the last chapter amazes me even more. I hope that if I write more for this universe people enjoy those stories, too. I have a few more stories in this universe that I'm already working on. Any future installments will be added to the series "Of Monsters and Men."
> 
> **[Tumblr tag](http://lahdolphin.tumblr.com/tagged/stars-aligned-fic) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lahdolphin) | [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/writingthoughtsandthings/wip-stars-aligned/desert/)**


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